


Inflorescence (Newt/Thomas)

by veryintimate



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Depressed Newt, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Jock Thomas, M/M, Newmas - Freeform, Oblivious Newt, Oblivious Thomas, Slow Burn, Suicidal Newt, Tattoo Thomas, lots of fluff, lots of pining, newtmas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-04-14 15:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 62,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryintimate/pseuds/veryintimate
Summary: (College AU) In his second year at Maze Uni, Newt, who loves flowers and plants, expects to stay in his comfort zone and spend most of his time either (a) with his best friend Minho, or (b) alone in the greenhouse (the Glade). He's perfectly content with sticking with his routine because of his past, but when tattooed, artistic, charismatic Thomas shows up, he can't help himself -- he suddenly wants to do all the things that he's never done before, and feel things that he never knew possible. Will he be able to heal from his past and get the guy, or is he destined to remain perpetually in his comfort zone with a one-sided pining for Thomas?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all :3 This is my first ever Newtmas fanfic (I joined the fandom a little late, sorry!) and I'm so excited for you to read the first chapter! I have a view of where this fanfic is heading and I really want you all to be able to witness it being complete <3 Without further ado, enjoyyyy!

Newt had always loved plants. For as long as he could remember, he had been fascinated and intrigued by the colourful little organisms -- whether it be succulents, flowers, or just shrubs, he would be happy to sit and admire them for hours, and would be even happier if he could tend to them, which meant putting his green fingers to good use. Even at a young age, he knew he wanted to be a botanist. (Or florist, if he didn’t turn out to be smart enough.) 

He'd always been a bit of an oddball. While other children loved to romp around with stuffed plushies and toy cars in kindergarten, he’d been the strange 5-year-old in the corner, muttering contentedly to that plant pot on the windowsill as if his words would help the buds blossom. In hindsight, now that he’s all grown, (well, mostly. He certainly wouldn’t mind a few extra inches to his existing 5’8) he knew it was probably because plants were good listeners and would never say stupid things. (Or eat their boogers. Even when was in kindergarten, he knew that boogers were _not_ food.)

Which was why, every day after class (and sometimes even during) he would go to the Glade – Maze University’s greenhouse – to find sanctuary and escape from the hustle and bustle of hectic university life. For a generally anxious person like him, even though spending the majority of his time with plants did make him seem a _little_ bit like a loser (just a little, though), the Glade was a dream come true. With the walls and the ceiling being large panels of glass, some of it being ivy-covered, Newt felt like he was safe without being enclosed in a stuffy space. The best thing: there’s always barely anyone there. 

Briskly walking down the red brick pavement, Newt inwardly cursed at the sun again; it had to be at least 40 degrees Celsius. Did it _have_ to shine quite so bloody fiercely? When he touched his hair, he was certain it was hot enough to be a surface to fry an egg on. He quickened his pace, desperate to get to the air-conditioned lecture hall sooner. 

“Newt!” Ah, one of the few voices that he wouldn’t mind hearing. In a few seconds, Minho had caught up to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. The Korean was always physical and his affection for Newt resembled a puppy’s: ear-to-ear grin, ever-smiling eyes, and a wagging tail. 

Maybe minus the wagging tail.

“It’s a little too warm for human contact today,” Newt mildly complained by way of greeting his mate. That’s probably why Minho was his best friend. He always managed to balance Newt out – while Newt was quiet, Minho was outgoing; Newt a worrywart, Minho optimistic and blissfully sanguine. He added just the right amount (sometimes debatable) of adventure into Newt’s otherwise unexciting life. That was how he liked it, though. Familiarity was a lifeline that Newt clung onto; leaving England and moving halfway across the globe after – after _that_ – was already the most drastic change that Newt ever thought he would be able to take. 

“It’s never too warm for Minho!” Minho countered cheerfully, even though he, too, was sweating bullets under the sun. “But seriously, I wonder what the sun’s shucking doing though, it’s normally never this hot in September.” 

“Y’know what, I think it might be too hot for even talking.” Newt flicked his hair out of his eye, practically panting at the stifling heat. “I can’t wait to get to the Glade after class.”

Minho clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Dude, when class ends, it’ll be afternoon and the weather will be perfect for a run. You should really come with me today.” Of course, being the dedicated fitness junkie and athlete he was, Minho never missed a chance to try coax Newt into doing any type of exercise. Because of Newt’s slim build and pale skin, Minho always seemed to be under the impression that Newt was seriously lacking physical movement (maybe he was, but so what?).

“You know I can’t run.” Minho had been the only friend in America that knew about Newt’s limp and the reason behind it. It was noticeable, and definitely more so when it rained, but people didn’t seem to notice, and never questioned Newt about it if they did. They wouldn’t get an answer if they asked; not a real one anyways. 

Minho looked sideways at Newt knowingly. “You know I don’t mean run. Just jogging, or walking would do your leg good. Keep it a well-oiled machine!” He caught Newt’s unamused eyebrow raise, and switched tactics. “At least soak up some vitamin D.” 

Newt snorted. “That’ll just get me sunburned, so no thanks. I’m soaking up far too much vitamin D just walking to the shucking lecture. You have fun with your track buddies,” he finalised. It was actually quite endearing (and a little moving) that Minho never stopped asking Newt to join his runs even though Newt shot him down every single time. 

Minho shrugged. “Suit yourself. At least come have lunch with me after class first. You know the plants won’t start talking to you when you get bored, right?”

Newt’s unamused eyebrow raise returned. “That’s kind of the whole point. I like no talking.” 

A wide smirk slung itself across Minho’s boyish face. “Privileged, I am. Mysterious Newton Isaacs talks to no one but me.” His chest _actually_ puffed up a bit.

Newt smacked Minho’s arm. And then kind of regretted it a bit because it was literally all muscle – very hard muscle. “Slim it.” He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ll have lunch with you after the lecture. But we’re just getting it to go,” he bargained.

Minho beamed at him, satisfied with the outcome. “Lunch it is. Subway or Chick-Fil-A?”

* * *

As per usual, the tiny Subway booth was swarmed with hungry students clamouring for takeout after their lessons. After getting his Italian BMT, (it was _always_ Italian BMT; familiarity = lifeline, after all) he hastily bade Minho goodbye and started to make his way to the Glade. Those bluebells that he’d recently been nurturing were for sure waiting for him. _And_ he had to keep track of the rate of algae growth on that enthralling aquatic plant. 

Both of which are perfectly valid interests of a 19-year-old male. He made a mental note to pick up some sort of hobby later in the semester. Maybe running with Minho…or just thinking about running with Minho.

Arriving at the Glade always made his heart do a happy dance, and finding no one inside made the dance even more vigorous. Once he entered, he dumped his bag on one of the wooden benches and started humming Kodaline (which was what played on his phone all the time in the Glade) while pulling on his khaki-brown gloves. Remembering his Italian BMT, he refrained from putting on the left glove, and held the bun in his left hand to chomp on while making his way to the lovely bluebells. 

The tinny music from his phone’s speaker and the occasional bird chirping was the perfect background noise for Newt to sink deep into his comfort zone. Surrounded by beautiful flowers and plants and (temporarily) having nothing to worry about, this was Newt’s favourite part of the day. He idly checked up on all of his familiar, beloved plants for almost 20 minutes. He didn’t hear the door open, or hear somebody coming in. Too absorbed in snipping away gently at the protruding weeds, he didn’t even hear someone sit down on the wooden bench.

Until a text alert from his phone sounded and he went to turn the notification sounds off. When he turned around, he found a brown-haired boy sitting on his bench – okay, _the_ bench, not his bench – with his head down and a sketchbook on his lap and _bloody hell_ did that give him a fright. Newt literally jumped up in alarm and of course, because he was the fool and the klutz that he was, dropped the trimming scissors. The clatter to the floor made the Unknown Boy look up –

Wow. Those. Hazel. Eyes. Unknown Boy had _very nice_ hazel eyes. His face was very pleasant to look at. His defined eyebrows and angular jaw gave his face character, but didn’t take away the softness that his lips offered. Even though his expression was one of surprise, he still looked like he was smiling, and it took Newt a total of 2 seconds to decide that Unknown Boy was very good-looking, and the tendrils of tattoo that curled out of his shirt collar and out of his sleeve made him _that_ much more attractive. 

Newt opened his mouth to speak but since he was so taken by surprise, no words came forth. _For God’s sake, Newton, speak._ His brain seemed to have stopped functioning.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Unknown Boy cut the silence with an apology – a sincere-sounding one, actually – and Newt’s heart shot up his throat at the voice. It was so _nice_. So…smooth, and…and _nice. Wow._

 _Answer him, don’t make an idiot out of yourself._ “Um, it’s fine. It’s just – no one comes here. I mean, I’m usually alone in the Glade. Not that it’s mine, or anything, but I’m usually the only one here,” Newt tried to explain. _Great. So much for not making an idiot out of yourself, Newton. Well bloody done._

Unknown Boy didn’t seem to notice that Newt was nervous babbling. “Yeah, it’s my first time here. I don’t know why no one’s here though, this place is really amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many beautiful plants in my life. Not in one place, at least,” he said with a crooked smile. Newt could just melt. _He’s good at talking_ , he noted. 

“What brings you here?” he asked. _Now he probably thinks I’m nosy. Why do you find it difficult to talk to someone remotely attractive?_

“Oh, I’m an art major. I’m dealing with the topic ‘life’ for my portfolio this semester the topic is crazy broad, so figured plants would be a good place to start.” Unknown Boy stood up, gesturing to his sketchbook with the pencil in his hand. _So he was drawing the plants._

“That’s cool,” Newt said, genuinely interested. In the previous (and first) year of university life and being in the Glade, no one had ever come in to draw the plants. Unknown Boy was the first. _Think of what else to say, don’t be lame._ “I just come here because I like plants.” _I like plants?! Really?_

“That’s cool too.” Unknown Boy grinned at Newt, making his heart stutter just a little bit. “I saw you working with the flowers for a bit before you noticed me. You keep everything in such good shape.” _He said he saw me. Was he watching me?_

Newt managed to laugh in sort of a carefree way. “I do what I can. They have professional botanists here, but I want all the practice I can get. And besides, I don’t think they love the plants as much as I do.” 

Unknown Boy’s eyebrows raised. “You want to be a botanist? That’s impressive. You must have really green fingers then.” 

Newt almost blushed. “I guess you could say that.” He scratched the back of his head. “You seem like you’re the artsy type. Future artist maybe?” Truth to be told, Newt noticed that Unknown Boy had a really fit chest and arms. Although he was no match for Minho, his build said athlete too, but his sketchbook said artist.

Unknown Boy bashfully shrugged. “I do a bit of everything,” he said vaguely. “But mostly I want to be a tattoo artist.” 

Before Newt could administer a reply, Unknown Boy’s phone rang, jolting them from the strangely personal but comfortable conversation they were sharing. He glanced at his phone and hurriedly stuffed his belongings in his bag, which was lying next to Newt’s.

“Sorry, I have to run,” he said, jumping to his feet. Newt’s heart seized a little in disappointment. “Oh, that’s okay.”

Unknown Boy made his way to the door in long strides, and Newt just stood there awkwardly, wishing he had some way to continue talking to him. When he reached the doorway, he looked over his shoulder. “I’ll see you around!” he yelled, waving at Newt. Then he _smiled_ at him, that heart-stopping crooked little grin, before disappearing out of the door.

Newt waved in response, trying not to let his ears get red. After Unknown Boy was out of sight, he let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. The connection he felt was refreshing but exciting, and the fact that they’d met at the Glade was just fate. 

He didn’t know how, but he just _had_ to get a reach of this Unknown Boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt finds out Unknown Boy's name is Thomas!

Newt's leg jiggled impatiently as he checked the clock for the third time in the past quarter hour. 4 minutes to go. He never really realised how long 4 minutes was until he was waiting for class to end -- time literally _snailed_ past. As much as he wouldn't like to admit, he'd been thinking about Unknown Boy all of last night (just because he curiously appeared in Newt's territory, you know, not because he was _extremely attractive_ or anything) and his heart hammered hard at the thought of encountering him today again. 

"...sure you read up on Pavone's journal on those surveillance-oriented security technologies. That will be all for today." With those words leaving Janson's mouth, Newt practically leapt up from his seat and slammed his laptop shut, eager (well, even more eager than usual) to get to the Glade. To get to his favourite bluebells, not to Unknown Boy, no. He didn't even join in the customary post-lecture smatter of applause because he was too preoccupied stuffing his papers in his bag. 

Minho peered at Newt sceptically. "Aren't you in a rush today. Not even gonna get lunch with me?" 

Newt tried to shrug nonchalantly, eyes wide with innocence. "Me? I'm not in a rush. I just want to see...the bluebells. They miss me, you know." 

Minho's dubious expression told Newt that he didn't buy it at all. "You know they don't go anywhere right? They won't walk off on you." By this time Newt was all packed and ready to go, but Minho was still seated comfortably and Newt felt guilty for ditching him. "Me, on the other hand. Lunch opportunities with me are precious. Gotta seize them when they come," Minho drawled, winking at Newt.

Newt scoffed. "Save your wink for the thirty girls vying for your affection. I'm Minho immune." Giving a chortle, Minho still looked like he had no intention of moving. _Could he not just hurry up a little? Unknown Boy might be there already._ It was almost as if he spoke aloud. "Okay, okay, I'll hurry." Minho gave in, the scepticalness settling in on his face again. "You're even more jittery than usual. Did something happen yesterday?" 

Newt's heart swelled with appreciation at Minho. That guy always detected even the slightest behavioural differences from Newt -- and he knew surprisingly well how to deal with Newt's anxiety and depression (not anymore, but he used to be good at taking care of him when those were still pressing issues). It was stereotypical, Newt confessed, but he never expected a jock like Minho to be sensitive as he was.

"No, nothing happened," he replied carelessly. To his defence, nothing special did happen. He just (almost) made a new friend, that's all. People did that all the time, right? No biggie. "I just have a lot of work to do today and I want to get a head start." Which was true; Newt had his 3000-word biology report due soon, and if he was completely truthful, he should be studying the plants in the lab under a microscope, and not in the Glade (but that didn't matter). 

Minho nodded, seemingly believing Newt. "Mmkay then. We'll go grab a Subway, then I'll be going running." He shouldered his backpack and stood up.

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

Newt's heart did its routine happy dance as he approached the Glade. No, it didn't dip slightly in disappointment when he saw that Unknown Boy wasn't there. He was glad for the seclusion, he was. After settling his belongings on his usual spot and checking up on his bluebells, he started working on his laptop, subconsciously keeping an eye and an ear out for any signs of Unknown -- for _other people_ , anyone else really -- entering the Glade. 

_No, I'm not waiting for Unknown Boy. I come here because I want to, and because it's my happy place._ Consumed by an unusual restlessness, which was very uncharacteristic of him when he was in the Glade, Newt found that it was difficult to focus on the report. Not because he was waiting for a certain someone, no, it was just...writer's block. 

His fingers remained stagnant above his laptop for about half an hour, his mind drifting off aimlessly as he struggled to come up with his main points for his paper. Finally, after about an hour of floundering around with scientific terms, he sighed in defeat and closed his laptop. Tending to the plants now could be a good idea. He was standing up to stretch his legs when suddenly the door _creaked_ \-- he spun around, his heartbeat hastening --

"Oh." His disappointment was audible when he saw that it was just the janitor, wheeling in his cart of cleaning supplies. He realized how rude his fallen face must have looked, so he quickly rearranged his features into a polite smile. "Hi, Jorge!" he greeted, giving the janitor a wave.

"Newt!" Jorge beamed at him sunnily, always glad to see him. "You've been doing my job for me again." He looked around the almost immaculate greenhouse and was jovial that he didn't have much to clean up.

Newt laughed. Jorge was another person that he didn't mind interacting with at all. "It's nothing, I've just been cutting some weeds. They were getting in the way of the bluebells anyways." 

"Those are your favourites, right? Figures that you would be so diligent." Jorge smiled knowingly at Newt. "Well, I'll be hosing the floor down, so you might want to scat if you don't want your shoes all wet."

"Sure, I'll leave you to it." Newt nodded, standing up to gather his stuff. He realised he most likely wouldn't be seeing Unknown Boy today, and the thought left him the _slightest_ bit dispirited, so he shot Minho a text to hang out; maybe he would be able to distract Newt. 

_What u up to?_

Minho's reply was almost instantaneous, signifying that he had already finished his run today. _At Homestead grabbing juice._

The Homestead was the campus' most frequented coffee shop; in the absence of a Starbucks in the area, most students turned to the Homestead for their daily doses of caffeine, or just to chill with their friends.

Newt's text phone _pinged_ again, and Minho had sent him a follow-up text. _Join me?_ Newt smiled at how much of a mind-reader Minho was, and he started making his way to the university coffee joint.

* * *

Newt could definitely feel the difference in his mood when he was in a crowded place like Homestead when compared to when he was in the Glade. He was even more on edge, and always kind of nervous about making a fool out of himself. When he stood near the ordering counter, he craned his neck to look for Minho, and almost spotted his friend at once by his gravity-defying quiff. Minho's hair never looked shy of flawless, even after an exercise session. Newt could never understand his technique -- or dedication, for that matter. 

Minho turned around and spotted Newt, the grin on his face growing even broader. "Newt!" he yelled (something Newt would never do in public), and Newt took that as his cue to make his way to where Minho was standing. 

"Hey man," he said, squeezing through a bunch of over-excited girls who were _very discretely_ checking Minho out. Then he noticed that Minho wasn't alone; there was someone standing to his left. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, that someone turned around.

 _Unknown Boy!_ Newt's mind and heart sputtered and he nearly choked on his own saliva. The astonishment and unexpectedness knocked at him like a whirlwind and he was sure his eyes were as wide as saucers.

Before he could say anything, Unknown Boy's face broke into his trademark crooked smile. "Hey, you." He tilted his head upwards at Newt, raising his bottle of juice before taking a swig from it. 

Minho hadn't seemed to notice Newt's unusual reaction, and if he did, he probably mistook it for social anxiety. "Newt, this is Thomas," he introduced. "Thomas, this is my best friend Newt." 

Unknown Boy -- Thomas, Newt now supposed -- extended a hand to Newt, and Newt took it, certain that the surprise was still dumbly evident on his face. "So your name's Newt." Thomas grinned. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm Newt," he replied, managing a flustered smile. He shook Thomas' hand and couldn't help but notice how firm yet gentle his calloused grip was. Minho looked at him weirdly. "Wait, you guys met before?" he asked, confused.

"Yes, actually, yesterday. I was visiting the Glade for the first time for my art portfolio," Thomas told Minho, eyes still on Newt and that _cute_ grin still etched on his face. Minho's glance travelled between Thomas and Newt for a few times and blissful realization dawned on his face. His eyes practically disappeared in light of the cheeky smile and Newt just _knew_ , Minho had figured out why he was so eager to get to the Glade today.

 _Welp, I'm screwed._ Trying his best not to look at the sly smirk on Minho's face, Newt focused on Thomas, and registered how the grey T-shirt that was slightly damp in the middle clung onto Thomas' chest. His shirt was short-sleeved today, and Newt could see that an assortment of tattoos covered his right arm, snaking up and peeking out of his shirt collar as they did yesterday -- just as he remembered. _Am I staring? I'm probably staring._ Maybe it was a better idea to focus on Minho. 

"So Minho, how'd you know Thomas?" he asked, turning to his friend, praying that he wasn't blushing. Minho cleared his throat and his sly smirk subsided just slightly. "Uh, he's the Greenie on the track team. Started running with him recently," he explained. "For a greenie, he's in pretty good shape."

Thomas laughed good-naturedly. "Yeah, I've been training with Minho for a few days," he told Newt. "I actually transferred from another university just this year. I'm still settling in; I'm moving into my dorm next week." _Thomas is a greenie. How is it he looks so much comfortable than me already? Maybe that's just how good-looking people work. Not that Thomas was exceptionally good-looking._

"That's cool. How're you liking it here so far?" Newt asked, genuinely interested, and wanting to make Thomas feel welcomed. 

Thomas shrugged. "It's pretty nice here. I've been busy with moving so I haven't met many new people yet, so I'm glad I found you guys." He grinned a Cheshire cat grin. "But I still have to find a job, and I have to get used to where everything is." Newt felt a pang of sympathy and understanding for Thomas. Having moved countries last year, he completely knew of the difficulties that it entailed. 

"Don't worry Greenie, Newt and I will take care of you just fine. Isn't that right, Newt?" Minho said, winking at Newt almost suggestively. _Oh, he's in for it later._

"Definitely, Thomas." Newt scrambled for something else to say, fiercely wishing that he was a better talker like Minho. "So you do track alongside art? You're pretty fit." _Shucking hell. Did I just tell him he was fit? Way to stick your gay foot in your mouth, Newt, really._ He could almost feel Minho's smirk radiating off of him.

Thomas laughed good-naturedly again. _He sounds so adorable._ "Nah, I'm nowhere near Minho. Being an art major means I have a pretty sedentary lifestyle, so I need to keep myself active if I wanna be healthy." 

Minho made a noise of approval. "See, Newt? Active. Healthy," he said, nodding and raising his eyebrows. 

Newt rolled his eyes. "He thinks I'm exercise and vitamin D deprived," he said glumly to Thomas, who chuckled. 

"Hey! It's not without reason; you spend half of your bloody day in the Glade," Minho countered defensively, and Newt noticed that his vocabulary and mannerisms were rubbing off on Minho. Maybe he was _bloody_ inspired. 

"Well, I think it suits you," Thomas piped up, smiling warmly at Newt which _did not_ make his heart do a flip. "You have this kind of soft, elven vibe around you. Being in the Glade is your thing, you know. You own it."

Newt's chest visibly inflated as he looked at Minho triumphantly. Thomas had stood up for him within 5 minutes of conversing with him. He felt somewhat childish, but he counted that as a victory. 

It was Minho's turn to roll his eyes. "Alright, fine, fine. Maybe being an elf suits you." He laughed and Thomas joined in, Newt's face heating at the sound. 

Thomas glanced at his watch. "Sorry guys, I have to get back to the studio. Don't wanna be late for Paige," he said apologetically, starting to leave. Newt felt the familiar drop of his heart, not unlike yesterday. _Cut it out, he's just a guy._

He wormed his way through the throng of girls, and as he pushed the door open, he smiled over his shoulder while giving both Minho and Newt a little wave. 

Newt smiled and waved back until Thomas was out of sight. When he turned to Minho, the boy's smug smirk was wider than ever.

"So _that's_ why --" "No, that's not why," Newt said briskly. "Don't be a shank." 

Even though Minho's arms were raised in surrender, the smirk never left his face. Together they walked out of Homestead and into the blazing sun, and for some reason, Newt felt as if the heat wasn't so unbearable anymore. The warmth was suddenly quite welcoming.

They walked back to their dorm mostly in silence, Newt's mind lingering around Thomas. He tried not to show it.

"You said he was pretty fit." Minho finally pointed out, the smirk still evident in his tone.

"Oh shut up." Even though Newt's tone was annoyed, he was secretly very thankful that Minho had allowed him and Thomas to cross paths again.

* * *

Now Newt knew Unknown Boy's name. When he drifted off to sleep, he could think about Thomas (among other things, of course, not just Thomas. That would be fantasizing), and not just a nameless face with a cute, crooked smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahh I hope you guys enjoyed Chapter 2!! Don't forget to comment and let me know what you think <3 Hopefully Chapter 3 will be up soon ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little peek into Newt's past, Minho being the typical best friend, and more Newtmas development! :D

The usually blinding morning sunlight was pleasantly diffused through the drawn blinds, casting a golden glow over the Newt and Minho's dorm room. In the air conditioning, Newt felt perfectly serene and comfortable in his bed, and caught between the placid state between sleep and wakefulness, he planned to snuggle deeper into the covers and catch a few more Z's on a precious Saturday weekend. 

_Thud_.

Newt fancied waking up at around 10, having a hearty breakfast and a nice cup of tea, then productively start working on his biology report. Maybe he'd daydream a bit about Thomas -- just a bit. But he'd think about the rest of the day later. Now was the time to go back to sleep. 

_Thud_.

He frowned and his eyes, hooded with sleep, fluttered open slightly. What the was that noise? He waited for a while and as it didn't appear again, he sighed in satisfaction and shut his eyes.

_Thud_. 

_Okay, what in the bloody...?_ His eyes flew open and he sat up, fuming at the noise which disrupted his sleep. Looking across the room, he managed to identify the source of the thudding: Minho doing burpees.

He groaned and flopped back onto his bed, traces of lethargy already vanishing. "Minho, do you _have_ to?" To say the least, he was annoyed that his tranquil weekend sleep was interrupted.

"Good morning to you too!" Minho grunted, standing up and brushing his hands off. "That was my pre-running workout."

Newt huffed. "Running is already a workout, I find it slightly ridiculous that you have to have a pre-workout workout. Now stop making noise, I need to go back to sleep," he muttered, throwing the covers over his face in a bid to block Minho out.

"That, my friend, is why you are spindly as a stick," Minho said merrily. "Burpees target your arms, chest, quads, glutes, hamstrings and engages your core. It gets the blood flowing through your body, while running is cardio, and it ups your stamina," he explained to Newt, probably not for the first time. Newt took no notice.

"Doesn't matter," Newt replied sleepily, unconcerned. "You'll still be as buff as a bull whatever you do. Now, shh." 

Minho guffawed. "Excuse me, I can be pretty elegant when I want to. I don't have to be a bull. I can be a swan." 

"Yeah, okay. Swan, great," Newt mumbled, trying to drift back off to sleep. He thought he was succeeding when he received no retort from Minho.

"Thomas is coming to run with me later," Minho announced casually, and even though Newt had his blanket over his face, he could hear the impish smile in Minho's voice. Under his covers, Newt opened his eyes. _I know what you're doing, Minho._

"Great," he answered, aware to keep his tone and choice of word airy and detached. "Have fun."

There was a brief silence, but Newt knew Minho was far from finished. "You should come."

Newt bit his lip. He wanted to see Thomas, but running was definitely not his forte -- with the limp, it was almost impossible for him. "Min, I can't," he sighed. 

"No, no, we won't run, we'll just walk. Walking with moderate intensity and no ragged breathing," he promised, trying to get Newt to agree. But no, Newt didn't want to look like a complete shuckface in front of Thomas. 

"I'm sleepy," he lied. "You go ahead." To some extent, he wished that Minho would find other reasons to keep pushing him to come, but he hoped to no avail. "Alright man, suit yourself."

Just a tiny bit dejected, he shut his eyes again to _really_ try to get some more sleep. 

"Sooo...Thomas is pretty fit," Minho stated brightly after a while of quietness. Newt groaned internally and his eyes opened again, knowing that it would be impossible to relapse into slumber if they kept talking about him.

"I suppose," Newt said. _He's very fit, you know that, Newt_. Still, he kept his tone cautiously carefree. 

"And he's cute," Minho added, his intonation overly innocuous. Newt bit his lip. "Mmm." _Even cuter when he smiles that bloody lopsided smile of his._

He knew that wouldn't be the last of Minho's suggestive jostling, and was right. "I think he's single, too."

"How'd you know?" Newt asked, curious and maybe a tiny bit envious that Minho knew more about Thomas than he did (and probably ever would). 

Judging by the lack of response, Newt could tell that Minho had shrugged. Then he said, "He just transferred here. Just...would be likely." _I hope he's right_ , Newt thought. _Not that I would be interested or anything._ He hurriedly justified to himself. 

"He's cuter than Alby," Minho said provocatively. Newt's face literally went up in flames when he remembered his year-long crush from last year.

"They're different," Newt said, trying to keep his voice balanced. "And you promised you wouldn't speak about Alby again." He was just a crush and nothing more, but Newt's level of obsession with the older Year 3 student was embarrassing. Alby had been the person to take Newt under his wing during his classes when Minho wasn't there, and even though their closeness didn't even remotely rival that of Minho's and Newt's, he still (used to) hold Alby dear to his heart. He didn't know when he stopped liking Alby, he just convinced himself that Alby was not and would never be interested in someone like him. Even if he did swing that way, Newt wouldn't be his choice. 

"They're both nice guys, I'll give you that, but Thomas is just objectively way better-looking than him." Minho's unyielding favour for Thomas was obvious. Newt decided to not reply and condone any more of this unnecessary competition, and _for the last time_ , tried to fall back asleep.

"Thomas also has a better ass --" 

" _Jesus Christ_ , Minho!" Newt tossed the covers off his face and rocketed up from his bed into a sitting position. The tips of his ears were getting red and warm -- _exactly_ the reaction that Minho was looking for. 

Minho laughed complacently and dodged a pillow that Newt threw at him. "Hey, hey, I'm _just saying_ \--" "What exactly is the purpose of this comparison?" Newt fumed, more out of embarrassment than genuine anger.

"Newt," Minho said, raising his eyebrows at him. "Chill. I'm just saying you guys would look cute together. It's _fine_." Newt rolled his eyes and was about to start sulking at how much his friend teased him, but he just made a disgruntled noise. 

"I'm leaving soon. But will you come join us for lunch afterwards?" Minho asked, the invite sincere in his eyes. 

Newt nodded, subtly excited that he would get to spend more time with Thomas. "Yeah, sure. Let me know where you guys decide to go."

"Will do." With that, Minho exited their dorm room, and Newt settled back down onto his bed, trying to find a comfortable spot.

_Oh, shuck it. I'll just get up._

* * *

An hour later, Newt made his way to the track field, where Minho and Thomas were running. When he got there, a bunch of girls were there on the bleachers, noticeably checking out the boys on the field. In this case, Minho and Thomas. He pursed his lips at the thought of them looking at Thomas, and confirmed in his mind that he did not like those girls. 

He walked into the field and could see Minho and Thomas nearing him. Raising a hand up in greeting, he could almost see Minho's shiny white teeth from his speciality grin glint in the sun. 

The boys slowed to a stop in front of Newt and he _tried_ not to be creepy and stare at how good Thomas looked drenched in sweat, his cheeks healthily rosy. 

"Hey, Newt," Thomas greeted, slightly out of breath. "Great to see you." 

That really shouldn't have made Newt as happy as it did. 

"Good to see you too, Thomas," he said, returning Thomas' warm smile. "Minho." 

Minho looked at Newt expectantly and huffed when he said no more. "Good to see you too, Minho," he said, punching Newt on the shoulder.

Newt laughed and Thomas joined in, glad that Minho always made the mood light and the conversation joyful. "Lunch?" Thomas suggested. His eyes were gleaming with energy and Newt wondered how anyone's eyes could be so _captivatingly_ hazel.

"Nuh uh, I'm cooling down first. Gotta go stretch," Minho said, jogging to the bleachers (towards the girls). "You guys go ahead first!" He yelled over his shoulder, leaving Thomas alone with Newt. Instantly, Newt felt himself starting to get nervous. _Don't be awkward,_ he reprimanded himself. 

"He's religious about the whole routine," Newt said, shaking his head fondly. Thomas laughed softly. "You'd expect no less of him. Look at how huge the guy is!" Even from afar, Minho's bulging muscles could be seen. 

Newt scrunched up his nose. "I was just saying this morning how much he resembled a bull."

Thomas laughed again, this time a little louder. The sound was delightful. "You wanna walk with me?" he asked Newt. "Just for a couple minutes. So I can cool down as well." 

_Yes please._ "Erm, sure," he answered. As long as it wasn't running, he was okay with it. 

"So I wanted to ask you this since we met, but I never got the chance -- are you British?" Thomas questioned as they walked slowly along the track.

"Bloody hell, what gave me away?" Newt said in reply, making his accent extra thick. 

Thomas laughed. He was always laughing. Newt liked that.

"Yeah, I'm British. I moved to America last year, actually. My first year in university was my first year in America," he clarified. 

Thomas' eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really? Why'd you move?" Newt could tell that Thomas didn't mean to pry, that his interest was genuine, but he was afraid he'd scare him away with the truth.

"Just...family stuff," he said ambiguously, waving a hand in the air. "No big deal."

Thomas didn't press on the matter any further, which Newt was incredibly grateful for. Minho had been quite thick when they had this conversation last year. "How bout you? Why'd you transfer from another uni?"

Thomas shrugged. "There were too many negative memories associated with where I was. Wanted a fresh start, scene change," he said simply. That was actually a bloody good answer. Newt could have used the exact same answer to explain. Now he would just seem like he was brushing Thomas off. _Damn it._

"I get it," he said. "Well, if you're with me and Minho, you'll have no problem in creating new and better moments to remember. At least I hope," he said, trying not to cringe at how cliche that sounded. It sounded much better in his head. 

Thomas smiled at nudged Newt with his shoulder playfully with his tattooed side. "Thanks, man. You know, I've never had a British friend," he suddenly told Newt. 

Newt barked out a laugh. "Oh, we're much better than Americans, trust me. You'll absolutely love this Brit," he said cheekily, surprised at the sudden burst of confidence and boldness that came out of his mouth. 

Thomas' eyebrows shot up and his smile grew even wider. "Much better than us, huh? I doubt that." 

"Okay, for starters, our use of words is, quite frankly, much smarter and more logical," Newt contended.

"Uh huh," Thomas said, turning to walk backwards so he could face Newt. Newt could see the enthusiasm in his face and in the bounce in his step. "Shoot."

"For some reason, Americans felt the need to change the word 'bin' to 'waste paper basket'. As if 'bin' didn't entail clear enough instructions that rubbish had to go inside; no, you guys _had_ to specify that _waste paper_ is the only thing that goes in it." He cracked a grin and raised his eyebrows at Thomas. "Make sense?"

Thomas rolled his eyes and the crooked smile crept onto his face. "Yeah, okay, you get this point. But apart from use of words, dude, USA wins!" He threw his hands up in the air (Newt didn't notice how his biceps flexed). "It's the land of the free!"

Newt laughed. "Hold on, I'm not done yet. What's the name of the first Harry Potter movie?"

Thomas frowned. "Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone, but what's that got to do with --"

"Everything, Thomas, everything!" Newt exclaimed. "Since you guys don't understand the word Philosopher, and just _had_ to change it into Sorceror. It was supposed to be Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone!"

Thomas started laughing. "Come onnnn Newt, you can't seriously be using that as an argument," he punched Newt lightly on the shoulder, and Newt's heart sputtered a little at the contact. He made sure it didn't show on his face. 

"Oh no, I'm completely serious. Why not go ahead and change all the other movie names, too?" he said, and pretended to pause and consider. "How bout Harry Potter and the Hot Cup?" he suggested, referring to the Goblet of Fire. "Or, y'know, Harry Potter and that Bird Club," he deadpanned, regarding The Order of the Phoenix.

Thomas threw his head backwards and hooted with laughter, his eyes disappearing into little crescents. Newt's heart surged; _he_ was the one making Thomas laugh so much. 

"Okay, Newt, you win. Long live the Queen," Thomas surrendered, grinning. They had walked in a full circle around the track, and reached where Minho was stretching. Newt's spirits were lifted and he was ecstatic that he'd had his first proper conversation with Thomas. 

"Minho!" Thomas yelled, jogging over to where the Asian was. Next to him was a pretty dark-haired girl who Newt knew to be Teresa Agnes: Minho's on again-off again flame, whom he asserted to be 'nothing serious'. To be frank, Newt thought they were friends with benefits; Minho being the popular, attractive guy he was, there always seemed to be too many girls vying for his affection for anything to be serious. 

"Hey, Teresa," Newt greeted, shooting Minho a sideways glance. He looked like they were in the middle of a flirty conversation -- Teresa's hand was in her hair, and Minho was _definitely_ intentionally flexing while stretching. "This is Thomas," he introduced. Thomas raised a hand in acknowledgement. 

"Newt, Thomas," Teresa greeted, smiling at them. "I was just going to borrow Minho for the rest of the day, is that okay?" she asked, her piercing blue eyes earnest. 

_No, it's not okay. If Minho leaves, we might not be eating together anymore, and that would mean less time with Thomas._

"I don't see why not," Newt acquiesced, after looking at Thomas and Minho's faces to confirm that they were both okay with that. Minho was looking sheepish. "Sorry for bailing guys, Teresa needs help with...something."

_Yeah, right. She needs help with taking off her clothes, maybe._

"Don't worry about it." Newt waved him off. "You won't be missed anyways," he adds to lighten the mood. Minho's sheepish look disappears and he clicks his tongue indignantly.

"Yeah, it's fine," Thomas joined the conversation. "Newt and I'll grab something to eat." 

"We will?" Newt couldn't stop the surprise showing in his voice. "I mean -- yeah, we will," he finished lamely, mentally kicking himself, and deliberately _not_ looking at the stupid smirk on Minho's face. 

After Minho and Teresa had left, Thomas and Newt decided to head back to Newt and Minho's dorm before lunch.

"They're together, aren't they?" Thomas observed as they walked away from the track field. 

Newt laughed. "Depends on your definition of 'together'," he admitted. "It's nothing serious though." 

Thomas nodded. "Minho seems like the type to not do serious," he agreed. "He's too much of a chick magnet." Newt couldn't tell if Thomas was being serious. _And are you too much of a chick magnet?_ He swallowed the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

"He does have many admirers," he said matter-of-factly, pushing open the door to their dorm. 

Suddenly, Newt's stomach grumbled and his face flushed; he hadn't eaten breakfast and he was too involved in talking to Thomas to feel hungry. Thomas grinned at the noise. "Let's get pizza," he suggested. "I'm hungry too and going out is gonna take longer."

Newt laughed bashfully. "Agreed. I'll call the pizza place. Just make yourself at home," he said, locking the door behind him.

Thomas set his water bottle down on Newt's desk and scratched his head. "Is it uh...is it okay if I shower here? I kinda stink and I don't want to contaminate your room or anything," he asked, his usual crooked smile a little coy. 

Newt's inner teenage girl screeched. "Yeah, sure," he said, somehow mustering the ability to sound nonchalant. His heart lurched at the thought of Thomas _in his shower_. Naked. Because people do shower naked. "Um, you can use one of my towels." He reached into his closet, silently thanking his lucky stars that it was his best towel lying on top of the extra pile.

"Thanks, Newt," Thomas caught the towel that Newt threw him, grinned boyishly and disappeared into the bathroom.

Newt managed to return the smile and when he heard the door click shut, he half-collapsed onto his bed, taking a shaky breath. 

_Don't be nervous, it's just Thomas. You guys are going to eat together, talk like friends and have fun._

_And you're going to see him in a towel_. 

Newt quickly blinked that thought out of his head. He was glad Minho wasn't there; if he was, the smirk on his face would definitely be enough to indicate that Newt was _potentially_ attracted to Thomas. He didn't want that.

At least, not just 2 days after he'd properly met Thomas. Maybe he'd wait until they'd finished pizza to drop hints. 

Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was more between Thomas and Newt in this chapter, which I'm sure you would have enjoyed ;) I can't wait for the next chapter where the towel scene manifests! :3  
> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments!! xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas spend the day in Newt's dorm, and their friendship begins to bloom.

_Did you have a good shower?_ No, that was lame. Who even says that? How do you even have a good shower?

_How long have you been working out? You have a really nice body._ Definitely not. Too gay. 

_I'm sure Minho has something that would fit you. But I wouldn't mind you being in a towel either_. Too brutally honest. Cut the second part, then it might be appropriate. But then again, Newt didn't really want Thomas to wear something that belonged to Minho. Hmm.

Newt sighed, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair as he tried to equip himself with an appropriate response for when Thomas exited the bathroom (freshly bathed and presumably looking like God incarnate). Newt promised himself that he would _not_ gape at Thomas' muscles or tattoos. Self-control was something Newt exercised fairly well; he had never dropped hints or done anything that he would have liked with Alby. He had his fear of rejection to thank for that.

Thomas' phone on the table started ringing. Newt looked over to the table on reflex but didn't make any move to see the caller ID or answer the call -- he knew it would be rude. After a few seconds, the ringing stopped and Newt resumed trying to conjure up a suitable reaction.

The phone started ringing again, but with text alerts this time. From the sound of it, it seemed like someone was desperate to get in touch with Thomas; the _pings_ were continuous in a quick-fire way, and lasted for an irksomely long period of time. It was implicit that the texts were sent from a girl; a guy would never spam like that. Unable to stomach his curiosity any further, Newt peered over at the notifications.

_You have 1 missed call from Brenda_.

_You have 37 new messages from Brenda_.

Newt's stomach clenched. Could Brenda be Thomas' girlfriend?

_Click_. The sound of the bathroom door opening obstructed Newt's train of thought, and he forgot everything that he had planned to say as Thomas emerged from the bathroom, wet and shirtless with only a towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist.

He nursed a neutral expression onto his face while Thomas walked out. _Bloody hell, he's hot._

The first thing that caught Newt's eye was the constellation of tattoos across Thomas' chest. They stretched across Thomas' pecs, going no further than his rib cage. Save for the one tattoo that extended from his chest to the right side of his body and disappeared into the towel, his lower body was tattoo-free, making his abs that much more visible. His right arm was covered in a half-sleeve, and it was a wonder how each and every tattoo melded so well together. Newt normally didn't have a thing for tattoos, but every single one on Thomas' body was so well-illustrated and somehow elegant, he didn't feel like it looked trashy or overdone at all. 

When Thomas turned to shut the door, Newt saw that the entire left side of Thomas' defined back was covered in tattoos, while the right side was left blank. Just as Newt wanted to see what the pattern tattooed was, Thomas turned back around and his back was out of Newt's sight. 

He finally remembered to speak. "Your tattoos look amazing," he blurted out, every plan of his response vanishing from his mind. 

Thomas grinned, looking down as if he forgot that his body was covered in tattoos. "You think so?" 

Newt nodded, swallowing. "Yeah, they all look really good. I didn't think so many tattoos could look good together but they compliment each other really well." 

Thomas' grin grew wider. "Thanks, man." He shook his wet hair and droplets fell from his hair onto his body, sluicing off of his chest. Newt's breath hitched. His eyes tried to stay on Thomas' face and not follow the sliding drop of water. As Thomas walked closer to where Newt was standing, he could see that his face, neck and chest were sporadically littered with tiny moles -- an endearing trait that Newt never thought he would find attractive. 

Newt's valiant effort not to explore Thomas' tattoos with his eyes paid off. The urge to inspect the ink on Thomas' skin subsided slightly, and he found the will to compose himself again. "I ordered two pizzas," he told Thomas. "American Pepperoni and Hawaiian, is that okay?" 

Thomas nodded. "I'm not very picky about food," he told Newt. "But um, do you have an extra shirt and shorts? I don't really want to put on my dirty clothes," he asked, smiling that crooked smile of his again. Newt immediately opened his wardrobe and started sifting through his clothes. _It's okay if you didn't put on anything._ Newt thought. _As long as you don't mind me staring._ "Yeah, of course," he answered, although he didn't have a particular shirt in mind. What did he have that would fit Thomas' build?

He came across a dark green shirt that he recalled being loose on his skinny frame, and took it off from its hanger. Grabbing a pair of shorts as well, he threw them to Thomas, who caught them with ease. "Thanks!" he called, and Newt didn't have the gall to turn around because he was scared Thomas would just get dressed on the spot.

Which he did. 

By the time he had said 'you're welcome' and shut his closet door, Thomas had already pulled on the shorts and was putting on the shirt. Loose on Newt, it hugged Thomas' muscles perfectly and Newt couldn't help but marvel at how he picked such a nice shirt that brought out the hazel in Thomas' eyes. He considered letting him keep it.

Thomas looked down and burst into laughter. 

"What?" Newt immediately felt self-conscious that he did something wrong. "What's funny?"

Thomas' eyes were bright when he looked up again. "Look. It says 'suck it'," he chortled, pointing to the tiny white embroidery on the upper right side of the shirt.

Newt stepped closer to Thomas ( _He must have used my shampoo. He smells like lemons and mint._ ) to look at the pattern. There was a thumb-sized succulent embroidered onto the fabric, and underneath that was stitched _succ it._

Newt's face grew warm as he joined in Thomas' laughter. He'd completely forgotten about the plant pun on this shirt. And the gay-ish connotation.

"It's so you, Newt. Figures you'd have a shirt with a plant pun on it," Thomas said, nudging Newt's shoulder.

Newt shrugged. "What can I say, I'm a succa for puns," he said, chuckling at the half-assed joke he just made. "Get it? 'Cause sucker, succa..." he trailed off, waving his hand. "I know, I'm terrible."

Thomas laughed. "No, you're _plantastic_ ," he corrected Newt, winking. 

Newt erupted into giggles again. "You're terrible, Tommy," he teased, rolling his eyes. 

_Shit. Did I just call him Tommy? Where the bloody shuck did that come from?_ His heart tripped a beat, and he made a mental note not to call him that again.

Thankfully, Thomas seemed oblivious to his slip of the tongue. "You don't like my puns?" he said in mock offence. "That's unbe _leaf_ able, Newt."

Newt's nerves dispersed and he snorted with laughter. "Bloody hell Thomas, I didn't expect you to be quite so lovely," he commented. "With your tough and tattooed and buff persona."

Thomas cleared his throat. "I can be brooding if you want. I swing many ways," he said, adopting a more solemn tone. _He swings many ways_ , Newt thought. _Does he even know what that indicates?_

"You should get that tattooed, you know," Newt suggested. "Right across your stomach. 'I swing many ways'." He envisioned, drawing a line in the air in front of Thomas' abs. Thomas was about to give a retort when the doorbell rang.

"That should be the pizza," Newt pointed out and went to open the door. With two pizzas teetering on his forearms, he walked over to the table and set them down. "Dig in," he told Thomas. "We don't have the habit of using plates when we eat pizza," he confessed, referring to him and Minho. 

Thomas shook his head. "'s fine. I normally don't use plates anyways," he said, reaching for a slice. Newt could tell he was hungry when he bit into it. "Mmm," Thomas groaned, his eyes closed. "Mm! That's really good." To Newt's ears, Thomas sounded awfully erotic about a piece of pizza, but he shook the thought out of his head. He knew if he wanted to be friends with Thomas, he could only think platonic thoughts. 

Newt grabbed a piece of pizza for himself and motioned for Thomas to sit on his bed. "D'you want to watch anything?" he asked, opening his computer and Netflix. 

Thomas peered at the computer screen and pointed at Sherlock. "Mm, I've never watched Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock before," he said, sounding intrigued.

Newt's eyes widened. "You're kidding me. It's the best interpretation," he said, opening up the first episode of season 1 immediately. "The acting is on point and I promise you'll be impressed by the editing." 

Thomas smiled. "And it's British, right?" 

Newt laughed in response. "Yeah, and it's British. Which makes it better." 

Half an hour into the first episode, they had already finished both pizzas and were contentedly situated on Newt's bed. They were both engrossed by the show, and Newt couldn't help but feel giddy at how he was getting to spend time with Thomas. Suddenly, Thomas’ phone rang and Newt instantly remembered how desperate Brenda was to get in touch with him. 

Pausing the show, Newt reached over to Thomas’ phone and handed it to him. Thomas quickly thanked him and slid off of the bed, accepting the call. 

Newt tried not to eavesdrop on Thomas’ conversation and busied himself in touching the border of his laptop case. The call lasted for less than a minute, and when Thomas returned, he was wearing his usual smile.

“Everything okay?” “Yeah, it was my mechanic,” Thomas explained.

Newt raised his eyebrows. “Your car mechanic or something?” 

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, I was supposed to pick up my bike later today but he needs more time on it. It had a clogged fuel tank vent,” he explained, shaking his head. “I wish I was better at fixing bikes but sadly I can’t be perfect at everything.”

_Of course he rides a motorcycle._ Thomas’ bad boy vibe was getting stronger by the minute, and Newt couldn’t say he minded at all. _Alby rode a motorcycle._ But he hastily dismissed any thoughts of Alby. 

“Oh, by the way, when you were showering, someone was calling and texting you very enthusiastically.” Newt decided to bring it up; maybe Thomas would disclose who Brenda was.

“Oh, did you see the ID?”

For a second, Newt contemplated saying no, but his interest got the better of him. “Um, I think it said Brenda? I’m not sure though.”

Thomas’ expression gave nothing away, and he just nodded. “Alright. Sorry bout that, let’s start watching again.” Newt observed that Thomas didn’t check his messages or make any move to call Brenda back, which probably meant that she wasn’t someone of paramount significance (i.e. his girlfriend), and that was good enough for Newt. 

Before Newt realised it, they had gone through the entire first season. They made remarks and laughed at the right places, but it was relatively quiet the whole time. Thomas had some deductions of his own, and Newt just smiled at how far off his guesses were. The silence was comfortable, and it was something Newt hadn’t experienced with anyone else apart from Minho. 

When Newt looked at Thomas to see if he wanted to start Season 2, he saw him peeling at some dry skin on his lips. Out of reflex, he reached up and slapped Thomas’ hand.

Thomas jolted and looked at Newt in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t do that, you’ll tear the skin off,” he said sternly. 

Thomas visibly relaxed and laughed. “Dude, I thought you were swatting away a bug or something. It’s good, I’m used to it.”

Newt’s eyebrows raised. “Ruined lips aren’t very kissable,” he countered.

Thomas stopped peeling, and nodded in concession. “True. It’s always been a bad habit of mine though. D’you have any salve or something?” 

Newt handed Thomas the laptop from his laps and got up to retrieve the Vaseline. He threw his legs off the bed – and a piercing pain darted up his bad leg. Clutching it, he hissed in pain.

“Are you okay?” Thomas said, his hand shooting out to steady Newt. 

“Yeah,” Newt said through gritted teeth. “I’m fine. This leg has been bad for forever,” he explained unclearly, unwilling to divulge the actual reason behind his bad leg and his limp. He didn’t want Thomas to treat him like a fragile person. Bending down, he began massaging the limb.

“That sucks,” Thomas said sympathetically. “I had a bad leg a few years back. D’you want me to rub it?” 

Even through the dull, throbbing pain of his leg, Newt could sense the thrill that went through his veins. _Um, yes._ “Nah, it’s okay,” he said, flapping his free hand. “I’m used to it.” 

“That’s what I said when you told me to stop peeling my lips,” Thomas pointed out. “And you didn’t drop it there.” 

Newt turned to look at Thomas, and his mouth was set in purposeful line. “I know how to make it better.” 

Newt sat back on the bed slowly and Thomas took that as a sign of compliance. “Sit back,” he ordered gently as he rubbed his hands to warm them up. “Tell me if I’m going too hard.” The moment his warm hands applied pressure to Newt’s bad leg, the pain eased away substantially and he closed his eyes in satisfaction. He wasn’t even flustered at the contact between Thomas and him, he was just appreciative and very impressed that Thomas had the skill. 

“That feels good,” he said softly, as Thomas hit a sore spot. Thomas’ brow was creased in concentration and as he heard the affirmation from Newt, he looked up and smiled. “That’s good,” he murmured. “Your leg’s been in the same position for too long. I’ll remind you to get up and walk around next time.” 

They sat in enjoyable silence for a few minutes, Thomas kneading Newt’s leg mildly and Newt watching him. He was pleasantly surprised that such a muscled, tattooed boy possessed a soft side, and even more surprised that it was exposed to him so early in their correspondence. 

“I fell,” he said by way of explanation, knowing that Thomas was curious about what happened to his leg. 

Thomas didn’t look up when he answered. “It’s okay, that happens.” He pushed the matter no further and Newt glowed with appreciation again. He flexed his leg and patted Thomas’ back. 

“Thanks, Thomas. It feels much better now.” With that, Thomas straightened up and smiled kindly. “I’m glad.” He reached over Newt’s legs and hit play.

As the show continued, Newt found it increasingly difficult to focus. The relaxation that Thomas had given him was starting to make him drowsy. In order to keep himself conscious, he straightened up and sat better.

Thomas’ leg moved and pressed up against Newt’s, making Newt stiffen ever so faintly. He had shifted closer to the blonde, and he smelled just like Newt did – lemons, mint, and a musky, masculine hint of vanilla. Thomas glanced at Newt and smiled again, making Newt melt a little inside. 

He understood that Thomas moved not because he wanted to be closer to him, but because the brunette knew pressure on Newt’s leg would lessen the pain even more. Despite how the contact made his heartbeat pick up, he was still platonically grateful for Thomas’ thoughtfulness. 

He could feel that this was the beginning of a friendship that would last very long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was more focused on Newt's and Thomas' relationship evolving and them getting to know each other, so I'm sorry for any significant lack of action/ plot development! But I hope you still enjoyed the cuteness :3   
> Also, any guesses of what Newt's past entails/ who Brenda is? :o
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments xxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt tells himself that Thomas does not feel the same.

Newt woke up with a start, alarmed at the intrusive ringing that roused him from his sleep. He scanned his surroundings frantically; it was dark outside and the AC was blowing comfortably. What time was it? Why was he asleep? 

His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room and zeroed in on Thomas standing at the end of his bed, with a phone to his ear. _Ah,_ Newt remembered. He was hanging out with Thomas, watching Sherlock. 

_Shit. I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m a crap host._ He hurriedly rubbed the drowsiness out of his eyes and bustled to sit up. Thomas was still talking on the phone quietly, his voice muffled. Just like last time, the call didn’t last long; he hung up within a minute and turned back to Newt. _I wonder if that was Brenda._

“Hey,” Thomas said softly, sitting back down on the bed. “Sorry that woke you.” 

“No, no, I’m sorry for falling asleep. I’m such a rubbish person to hang out with,” Newt apologized, feeling really bad that he’d botched up his first ‘bonding experience’ with Thomas.

Thomas patted Newt’s leg. “Don’t worry about it. I could tell you were tired. And your leg was hurting,” he said. His tone was understanding, and Newt could tell that it wasn’t forced. A ‘thank you’ couldn’t express how much he appreciated Thomas, so he decided to forego formalities entirely.

He cleared his throat, his voice still gruff with sleep. “Your mechanic?” he asked casually, jutting his chin over to Thomas’ phone. He knew that Thomas’ mechanic already called once and was not likely to call again.

Thomas shifted a bit. “Brenda, actually. She’s…persistent,” he confessed.

“Oh.” Newt was starting to believe more and more that Brenda wasn’t Thomas’ girlfriend. (But he could tell she wanted to be. Or maybe she once was.) He acutely wanted to know more, but knew it wasn’t right to keep pushing. Thomas hadn’t pushed him to reveal why he moved to the US from England, or reveal the reason behind his limp; he shouldn’t push Thomas to tell him about Brenda either. To alleviate the slight helplessness, he changed the subject.

“What time is it?” 

Thomas checked his phone. “Uh, nearly eight. I’m gonna leave soon but I didn’t want to go before you woke up. Wouldn’t be nice to ditch you.” Even in the dark, Newt saw Thomas’ crooked smile directed at him. 

_He’s too bloody nice to be real._

“You really shouldn’t have,” he said, half guilty (and half giddy) that Thomas stayed with him. “You must have had something better to do than…I don’t know, watch me sleep.” He laughed awkwardly. 

Thomas shrugged. “I _was_ doing something, actually.” He handed Newt a slightly rumpled piece of paper that was lying next to him. “I drew your room. It’s good still-view perspective practice for art.” 

Newt took the paper from Thomas and inspected the drawing – although it was only completed in pencil, Thomas had every detail down. His lines and shadows were precise and skilled, and Newt immediately felt more admiration for the talented brunette. 

“I’m sure you get this all the time but it looks awesome,” he told Thomas, running a finger over the sketch gingerly. “You’re really talented. You would be an exceptional tattoo artist.”

Thomas smiled. “You give me too much credit. There are loads of people out there better than me.” 

_Cuteness, and now humility too. He’s too damn perfect._

He looked up from the drawing. “Well, not that I know of. You’re the best artist I know,” he finalized. “If I was ever to get a tattoo, you’re the person I would get to do it.” 

“Speaking of tattoos,” Thomas intervened, his face radiant at Newt’s compliment, “I have a job interview at WCKD.” 

Newt’s eyes grew wide. WCKD was the prestigious tattoo parlour conveniently located right outside Maze University premises – and it was the home of many drunken tattoo decisions. It bore many memories of unforgettable nights shared between the entire student body, and even though (some of) the staff had expressed their disapproval at the shop’s location, it still stood past a decade. 

“I think you have to be really good to be hired there,” Newt told Thomas. “Many Mazers have tried to get a part time job at WCKD but they don’t hire all that often. Or get job interviews.”

Thomas shrugged. “I guess many of them don’t really have enough experience. It definitely helps being inked, though,” he said. 

“Have you?” Newt queried. “Had enough experience, I mean.”

Thomas hesitated and at once, Newt knew that he was searching for a humble way to say ‘yes’.

“I would say no, but I had my first tattoo when I was 15,” he said. _Wow. What was I doing when I was 15? Planting sunflowers, probably._

“That’s really young. Which one was it?” Newt asked, hopeful that Thomas would give him a tour of his tattoos and their underlying meanings. 

Thomas raised one leg and pointed to his ankle, and there, Newt saw a tiny pair of wings resting right below the bone. “I wanted to remind myself not to let anything weigh me down,” Thomas explained. “It’s kinda cliché, I know, but it means a lot to me. I was going through a tough time then and in hindsight, getting tattooed and learning how to tattoo made me a stronger person.” 

Newt had to physically stop his eyes from bursting into hearts like the heart eye emoji. _Thomas has a deep back story,_ he remarked. _One day he’ll trust me enough to tell it to me._

“Anyways, I would love to show you my other tattoos, but I think I have to get going. Brenda is kinda waiting for me.” _Stay._ While Thomas pulled his shoes on, Newt stated his wish in his head only. He wanted to learn about Thomas’ tattoos, about his back story, or just talk and make more plant puns. _I like spending time with you._ But of course, he stayed silent. 

Instead, he voiced out another thing he wanted to know. “Is she your girlfriend?” Newt asked airily but carefully. _So much for not pushing, Newton._

Thomas shook his head. “We had history, but she’s not my girlfriend now.” 

A ‘no’ would have made Newt happy, but for some reason, he was still uncomfortable upon knowing that she was Thomas’ ex. _Does he still like her?_

“So why do you have to answer to her?” Newt was slightly aware that he was going to start sounding like a whiny child if he didn’t stop.

Thomas ran his fingers through his brown hair. “It’s complicated. I’ll tell you when we have more time,” he promised, and finished putting his shoes on. “Bye, Newt.”

Newt waved from his bed, not really wanting to say goodbye. “See ya, Thomas,” he called out, eyes following Thomas out of the door.

As the door shut, he resumed looking at the drawing Thomas did, savouring more details since he had the time. Then he noticed there was something on his desk part – a tiny jumble of numbers.

 _He left his number._

Newt’s heart leaped with joy and he scrambled to add Thomas into his contacts. His fingers flew across the keyboard, formulating a text already.

_Wait. If I text him this soon after he leaves, I’ll seem bloody desperate._

His fingers slowed and he backspaced the letters he had typed. Gradually, he exited his contacts and forced himself to start working on his biology report. He decided he would allow himself to text Thomas after he finished one section.

* * *

He managed to finish three sections. It turned out that texting Thomas was a good enough motivation that made Newt actually _want_ to do his homework. 

_Hey_. He hit send, his heart doing a stupid fluttery dance which he had only experienced once will Alby. He realised how his inner teenage girl was starting to show, and he swallowed, willing himself to calm down and be normal.

After several minutes, Thomas’ reply arrived. _I see you found the clue._

Newt grinned. _It was clever, but nothing gets past me._ He noticed how he forgot to wait before replying, and scolded himself for noticing such a thing – regular friends (or guys for that matter) didn’t observe this kind of thing. 

Thomas didn’t wait before replying either: ( _Why would he though, of course friends wouldn’t follow this silly rule,_ Newt thought.) _Benefits of watching Sherlock._

Newt’s smile grew wider, and Thomas sent him another text. _I enjoyed Netflix and chilling with you btw :)_

Newt nearly swore out loud. Did Thomas not realize how flirty he sounded? Was he oblivious to the connotation to Netflix and chill? He was going to have a hard time not falling for the bloody slinthead if he kept offhandedly making these comments.

Or, Thomas could mean absolutely nothing except that he enjoyed spending time with Newt. Newt shook his head to get all of these over-analyses out of his head. _Stop overthinking._

He came up with another pun to respond. _Netflix and dill. heh_

He pictured Thomas’ cute laugh. _Go to sleep newt. Too late for your plant puns._

Newt laughed. _goodnight thomas_

_sweet dreams newt._

With that, Newt put aside his phone and decided to go to sleep, feeling fuzzy and content inside.

* * *

Minho didn’t come back to the dorm for the entire weekend. When he returned on Monday, it took Newt all of one look to confirm that Minho had got together with Teresa again.

“How’d your hangout with Thomas go?” Minho asked, deliberately diverting Newt’s attention away from Teresa. _Don’t worry, Minho_ , Newt thought. _I have excellent memory_. He would interrogate Minho about Teresa later.

“Good,” he said shortly. “He’s a nice friend.” 

Minho raised his eyebrows, a silent propel for Newt to elaborate. “Just a friend?”

Newt sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Yes, Minho, just a friend. I just met the shucking lad.”

Minho nodded. “Fair enough. Didn’t he spend the night at our dorm or something?” 

Newt scoffed. “Course not. Couldn’t say the same for you though. Should I start steering clear of our dorm whenever Teresa is around?” he asked. He recollected the two of them snogging and draped all over each other when they first started…whatever they were doing. Not dating, for sure. 

Minho rolled his eyes. “You’re in the Glade most of the time anyways,” he pointed out.

_Touche._

“Alright, but don’t go anywhere near my bed.” 

“Would never dream of it.” 

After the lecture ended, the boys went their usual separate ways – Minho to track, and Newt to the Glade. He couldn’t help but wonder where Thomas would be today.

After spending half an hour alone in the Glade, Newt started to accept that Thomas would of course, be more likely to run than spend time voluntarily at the Glade. He was such an active, fit person, it would be no surprise at all that he favoured Minho’s company over his own –

“Are those bluebells? They look nice.”

Newt practically screamed and dropped the bag of fertilizer he was holding. He jumped at the familiar voice out of alarm, but also out of pleasant surprise.

Thomas narrowly caught it before all of its contents tumbled out. “Aren’t you jumpy.” 

Newt took a shaky deep breath. “Thomas, you have got to stop bloody scaring me,” he said, making his tone serious. Of course, he was nowhere near angry. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Ever thought of announcing yourself?”

Thomas stuck his hands in his pockets, looking truly apologetic. “I’m sorry. You were so focused, I didn’t want to interrupt you.” 

“You still did,” Newt pointed out. “But yes, these are bluebells. D’you wanna draw them?” he asked.

Thomas leaned in closer over Newt’s shoulder, and Newt caught a whiff of lemon and mint. _Strange,_ he thought. _I could’ve sworn he smelled like that because of my shampoo._ “Actually, yes. Can you tell me something about them so I know how to make them look more realistic?” 

He had his hand poised above his sketchbook, and a determined look in his eyes. Newt’s heart swelled in admiration and he cleared his throat, glad he could showcase one of his only talents (if it could even be called that) and put himself to good use.

“Sure.” He picked a fallen bluebell flower off the table and held it closer to Thomas. “So as you can see, bluebells are extremely elegant flowers. They spend most of their time as buds and only bloom from April onwards. When they do, they droop down or nod to one side, like so.” He twisted the flower slightly in his fingers. “When you draw it, make sure to make the base of the flower darker, and incorporate some purple into each of the six petals,” he reminded. “When you reach the tips, you’ll notice they’re recurved – they turn upwards – and the inside of the petal is always a lighter shade than the outside.” His fingertips brushed the blossom gingerly. “Got that?”

Thomas nodded, his pencil flitting over the page. “What about emotionally?” 

Newt blinked. “Emotional – you mean…what do you mean emotionally?” he asked.

“Well, you love flowers for a reason right? How do they affect you emotionally? What do you see when you see a bluebell?” 

Newt was surprised to say the least. No one had ever asked him about his interest in such a way; no one understood that there were more to these delicate specimens than their stems and leaves. 

“They usually symbolise humility and gratitude,” he told Thomas. “Also associated with constancy and even in some countries…” he paused, considering whether to say it. “Everlasting love.”

“That’s beautiful,” Thomas smiled. Newt was moved that he didn’t cringe at how cliché it sounded. 

“They’re my favourite,” he admitted. 

After that, they mostly remained in silence – Newt tending to the plants while doing his biology report, and Thomas drawing the flowers while occasionally asking Newt questions. 

They spent days in the Glade like this, and the days evolved into a week. They soon progressed from talking about plants and art to talking about everything, and mostly about themselves. Newt learned that Thomas came from a single parent family and loved his mother fiercely. Thomas discovered that Newt was diagnosed with anxiety (Newt didn’t tell him about the depression and the suicide part yet) and their connection with each other grew stronger. 

With Newt’s growing fondness and for Thomas, he started relying on the brunette more and more, opening up about more things that he never expected himself to. It was mostly the small things – like how his favourite dessert was crème brulee – but Thomas exuded an air that made Newt confident that he was genuinely interested. 

He also found it more and more difficult to admit his budding affection. They had become best friends, and precisely because of that, Newt promised himself that even if he started to fall in love with Thomas, it would be a secret that he would carry to his grave.

Every lop-sided smile that was sent Newt’s way, and every cute flirtatious comment, Newt combatted with his default rebuttal: _Thomas does not feel the same._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a bittersweet end to this chapter, I know, but at least there's development between Newt and Thomas! :D And clarification of who Brenda is. Let me know if you enjoy their interactions, or if you would prefer to see more plot development! 
> 
> Don't forget to leave your kudos and comments! xxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas meet Alby. Thomas gets jealous.

"Teresa's having a party at the bar," Minho declared while charging into their dorm. Newt (at the desk) and Thomas (on the bed) looked up simultaneously.

"That's nice," Newt commented. "Have fun." 

Minho huffed and collapsed onto his bed. "She asked me to invite you guys," he clarified. "Plus ones allowed."

Newt and Thomas exchanged a look. "Thomas is my plus one," Newt said, confident that Thomas was thinking the same thing. His thoughts were confirmed when the other boy grinned at him and went back to his sketch, seemingly satisfied. 

Minho raised his eyebrows. "Really, guys?"

"Yeah, why not? We all know that our Newt is a lightweight; I'd better be there to pick up his drunk ass." Thomas said, still focused on his sketch of the tree outside Newt's window. 

_He said our Newt._

"Hey, I'm not a lightweight!" Newt protested indignantly once he'd gotten over the fact that Thomas referred to him as "their" Newt. 

Minho snorted. "Sorry Newt, I'm with Thomas on this one. You get drunk on like, one beer."

"I do _not!_ " Newt retorted. He was a lightweight compared to other boys, but his tolerance wasn't _that_ low. And he never let himself drink more than he should. "I never drink until I throw up or black out anyway. _You_ , on the other hand," he looked at Minho in reproach. "On second thought, Thomas should be your plus one. That way you might not have to wake up in a pool of your own barf." 

Minho glared at Newt. "That happened _once_ ," he growled.

Newt shrugged. "It still happened. And I cleaned it up for you, you're very welcome," he reminded Minho. Thomas was chuckling at the two of them. "Minho doesn't need us anymore, Newt," he said, swivelling around on the chair. "He's got Teresa. He's a big boy now," he smirked. 

"Ha, ha, very funny," Minho fake-seethed. "But seriously, are you guys coming?"

"I don't see why not," Newt said. Thomas nodded in consent.

"Great! Get your stuff, let's go!" Minho jumped up from the bed again.

"What? It's right now?" Newt looked down at his unfinished biology report. "I can't, I really have to finish this." 

"Come on, live a little!" Minho whined. "There'll be free food and drinks!"

Newt shook his head, recommencing his typing on the laptop. "Nope. Priorities." Newt secretly knew that it was just because he didn't like crowded places, sweaty people, or impromptu activities. 

"I'll buy your Italian BMTs for you all next week," Minho tried. Newt continued shaking his head slowly.

"Thomas, help me out here," the annoyed Korean ordered.

Thomas sighed and got up, sitting next to Newt on the bed. "Newt, we've been cooped up here all day. You have to stretch your legs," he said, putting his hand on Newt's leg. Newt instantly had a flashback to Thomas' warm, caring eyes when he was massaging his sore limb.

Persuaded just like that, Newt saved the document and shut his laptop. "Alright, but I'm not staying long," he conceded. Minho looked at Thomas in disbelief. "How is it that I can't persuade him with anything, and you manage to convince him so easily?" 

Thomas shrugged, smiling his crooked smile at Newt. "Maybe you gotta learn how to push the right buttons," he said. Newt felt his cheeks start to grow warm. When he thought about it, he realised what Thomas said was true -- he always did know what to say to make Newt feel all soft and mushy inside. 

Minho shuddered. "No, that sounds wrong. I'll leave the button-pushing to you." 

Thomas laughed. "Just an analogy," he said lightly, extending his hand to Newt as he got off the bed. Newt took it, and a thrill ran through his veins as his hand came into contact with the younger boy's. Then Thomas pulled him off the bed, and the thrill subsided. 

_Get a grip, Newt._ He reminded himself. _He's your friend. Better start acting like it._

* * *

When they arrived at the party, Newt felt himself starting to get nervous under the flashing lights and the pounding music. As if Thomas sense his tenseness, he clasped a hand around Newt's forearm briefly, looking at him in concern. His raised eyebrows delivered a silent question: _You ok?_

Newt was grateful for his contact. He nodded in reassurance, telling himself a crowded place would be fine if Thomas and Minho were there, and braved into the throng of chattering people. 

Out of nowhere, Teresa appeared next to the boys, beaming. "Guys, I'm so glad you made it!" she hugged Minho and kissed both Newt and Thomas on the cheek. "Make yourselves at home. You guys want beer, cider, wine, anything?" she asked, ever the enthusiastic host.

"Three beers," Minho chimed in. He almost had to shout over the thundering music. 

"Actually, two," Thomas said, holding up two fingers. "For Newt and Minho. I'm...alcohol intolerant," he explained. Newt immediately looked at Thomas, surprised at the piece of news.

"You never told me," he said, startled at the unlikely prospect that someone as tough as Thomas would be alcohol intolerant. He immediately scolded himself internally for being so stereotypical.

Thomas shrugged. "It never came up, I guess." 

When Teresa returned with two beers, she pressed each of them into Newt and Minho's hands. "We should probably leave them alone," Newt mumbled next to Thomas' ear.

Thomas nodded. "Anyways, Teresa, thanks for inviting us," he said politely, and she smiled sunnily again. "My pleasure," she said, glowing at Minho. "I wanna get into the good books of Minho's friends, don't I?" she winked. 

_Bit too late to redeem your playgirl reputation, Teresa._

"You're doing a great job," Newt said encouragingly, not listening to the little voice in his head. "Go...do your thing. Host your party, we'll be fine." 

With that, Teresa linked Minho's arm through hers and whisked him away. 

With a beer in hand and unfamiliar surroundings, Newt began to feel a bit out of place. Thomas' hazel eyes bore into his, sensing his discomfort. "You okay? If you want to leave, we can," Thomas said kindly. 

Newt quickly shook his head. "I'm good. Let's go sit at the bar?" The two moved and managed to snag two seats on the bar stools, overlooking the dark and somewhat chaotic dance floor. Newt took a sip of his beer and tried not to wince as the bitter taste hit his tongue. He was never much of an alcohol person, but when it came to the liquor, he always did prefer white wine or champagne -- frankly, most beers tasted like piss. 

"We should get you something to eat first," Thomas said suddenly, moving closer to Newt in order to be heard over the heavy beat. "Alcohol on an empty stomach is not ideal."

_Christ, he's always so bloody caring._

"Thoughtful of you, Thomas, thank you," Newt swallowed his mouthful of beer as Thomas turned inwards towards the bar, waving down the bartender. 

"Hey mate, do you guys have any chips or peanuts?" he asked.

"Sure, coming right up."

 _Hang on._ The voice almost made Newt choke on his drink. He recognized it, and would probably know it anywhere.

_Alby._

He turned around on his bar stool, and sure enough, it was the older, dark-skinned boy with a familiar physique that stood behind the counter. His heart seized, but not in the same way it did before. It was mostly out of surprise and a bit of nerves, but he was still (mostly) certain that he'd gotten over the crush.

"Alby," he said slightly breathlessly. 

Alby looked up, his chocolate eyes landing on Newt. They lit up in surprise and joy, and his face broke into a wide smile.

"Newt!" he said, the pleasure evident in his tone and face. "Haven't seen you in a while!" he held out his fist, and like old times, Newt automatically raised his to meet the other boy's. They bumped fists and Alby chuckled. "I missed you, man." 

Newt swallowed. "Yeah, it's been a while," he agreed dryly. _Because I was avoiding you._ "How've you been doing?"

"Oh, you know, final year, busy as usual. How bout you? Still keeping the Glade spick and span?" he winked.

Newt laughed. "Yeah, 's not like I have anything better to do." To calm himself, he took a large swig of his beer. He wondered what Thomas was making of this. 

Alby raised his eyebrows. "Pace yourself, tiger," he said, with a smiley lilt to his tone. _I would have bloody died if Alby called me 'tiger' a year ago._

Newt turned to Thomas, who had an unreadable expression on his face. "Thomas, this is Alby," he introduced. "Alby, my friend Thomas." 

Thomas extended a hand and Alby shook it. "Nice meeting you," Thomas said, with a smile that didn't _quite_ reach his eyes. 

"Take good care of our Newt tonight," Alby said good-naturedly. _Why is everyone calling me theirs?_ At the words "our Newt", Thomas' eyes picked up a steely gaze. _And why do I have to be taken care of?_

"Don't worry, I will," Thomas confirmed. Something about him was off, Newt decided. He seemed almost...defensive. 

He shook the thought out of his head. Across the bar, some girls called for Alby. 

"Just a second!" he called back. "Newt, it was great seeing you here. We should catch up some time," he said, reaching over the bar to clap a hand on Newt's shoulder. Newt tried not to look at Thomas to gauge his reaction, but he physically felt Thomas inhale. 

"Of course," he said, only slightly perfunctory. To his surprise, Alby actually produced a sharpie and took Newt's arm. "In case you lost my number," he said as he scribbled his number onto Newt's forearm. _I didn't bloody well lose your number, Alby, I just decided to neglect it._

"Thanks," Newt said courteously. "You mustn't let us keep you for long though, the girls must be getting impatient."

Alby laughed. "True. Catch you later." Then he headed off to another side.

 _What the hell was that?_ Newt tried to process what had just happened, and in order to calm his confused mind, he drank more from his bottle of beer. 

_Gulp. gulp. gulp._ Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he realised that beer tasted better as he drank it increasingly. 

It took him a while to see Thomas' stare. "Does he make you that nervous?" he asked, eyebrows raised sceptically. Newt didn't think Thomas had ever looked at him like that.

Newt blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

Thomas rolled his eyes and plucked the beer bottle out of Newt's hand.

"Hey --" "Newt, you were barely drinking before we met Alby and now once he's appeared you've been guzzling all of this down," he pointed out shortly. 

_Shit, have I?_

There was a long silence, indicating that Newt admitted to Thomas' accusation. "Is he your ex?"

Newt turned to Thomas with a weird look. "Course not. We're just friends." 

Judging by Thomas' expression, Newt knew that Thomas didn't buy it. To conceal his nerves, he reached for the beer bottle that was on the counter in front of Thomas -- and was blocked by Thomas' arm. 

"Thom --" "You like him though, didn't you?" Thomas interrupted. _He's being pushy._ Newt noted. _That's definitely a first._

"I don't see why --" "Am I right?" Thomas interceded again.

"Okay, yes, fine, you're right!" Newt gave up, half exasperated. "It doesn't matter!" he yanked the beer out of Thomas' reach and took a swig again. 

Thomas visibly deflated, but Newt didn't notice since the beer bottle was blocking his vision. The brunette quickly recomposed himself, dazed at how outspokenly out of character he just behaved. 

" _You_ never told me about Brenda," Newt muttered, voice muffled by the bottle. 

It was Thomas' turn to look bewildered. "I didn't think you wanted to know about her," he said truthfully.

_Bloody slinthead is thick._

Newt couldn't come up with any response other than to shrug. 

Thomas sighed. "We used to date. She asked me out. I've never really liked her but she's been persistent," he said straightforwardly. "That's all, I promise."

Newt's heart sighed in relief; it was quite a revelation that Thomas didn't really love Brenda. 

"I used to like Alby," he said curtly. "He didn't like me back. I don't like him anymore." 

Thomas' face was riddled with doubt and his eyes trailed to the sharpied number on Newt's forearm. "Right. Okay," he said, deciding that he'd been far too pushy already. Newt didn't deserve him gainsaying his explanation. 

"Sorry. That was out of place," Thomas apologised humbly. "I was just...curious." the crooked smile had made its way back onto Thomas' face and his tone adopted its usual warmness again. 

Newt shook his head. "It's fine," he dismissed Thomas. "You don't have to apologize." 

Thomas turned back around on his bar stool and faced the dance floor. "D'you wanna dance?" he asked Newt.

Newt's eyes widened as he shook his head. "I'm fine here. Besides, I can't dance. And people crushed like packed sardines...not good for my anxiety." 

"I know, but I'll be here for you this time. I promise, if anything happens, we're leaving right away," Thomas reassured. "Just give it a try, and you might like it." 

"I don't really..." he trailed off reluctantly. Thomas nodded in understanding.

"It's okay. If you don't want to, it's fine," Thomas smiled. Newt immediately could tell that Thomas was mildly disappointed, and as much as he disliked loud music and crowded places, he wanted to make Thomas happy more. 

He hopped off his bar stool, finishing the last bit of his liquid courage. "Come on, then," he said, grinning and Thomas' surprised face.

"Newt, I really didn't mean to pressure you --"

"You're going to show me how to dance." 

Thomas' widening grin matched Newt's as he, too, got off his chair. "Alright, bring it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH Thomas is jealous!! ;) Sorry for the short chapter, but I promise the next one will be a good one with more (kinda angsty?) background from both Newt and Thomas. What did you think about Newt, Thomas, and Alby's interaction? 
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments down below xx Much appreciated <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas get vulnerable.

It was absolutely ridiculous. Newt hadn't danced on the dance floor in a club before, ever, and he was gobsmacked at how much he actually _liked_ it. 

Then again, maybe he was only enjoying himself because it was Thomas he was dancing with. Not exactly _dancing_ per se, maybe just bobbing around to the music, but the adrenaline he was feeling was fresh -- and not at all unwelcome. 

On the other hand, Thomas was moving like a natural, as if the music was vibrating in his veins. It was evident that he had a lot of experience, and by the way he effortlessly, fluidly flowed in time with the beat, Newt grudgingly admitted that the cluster of girls was justified to stare at his ass. 

"I told you it wouldn't be hard!" Thomas yelled over the music, taking Newt's hands and gently guiding him into a new set of moves. Newt nearly stumbled but he laughed it off, feeling the effect of the alcohol starting to set in. It was a pleasant thrumming in his head that marginally elevated his heartbeat, allowing him to lapse into a less self-conscious, more daring state. 

"Of course it isn't hard for you; I've got two left feet!" Newt shouted back jokingly. He was feeling more alive than ever, and even though there were tons of people surrounding them, this moment with Thomas was oddly intimate. 

After two to three songs or so, his leg started to remind him to take it slow. He eased up on the movement, clenching and relaxing his leg muscle to see if the dull pain would go away. 

Because of his observance, Thomas immediately noticed his change in behaviour and leaned over to Newt. "I'm getting a bit tired," he said. "Wanna go back to the bar for a bit?" 

Newt nodded, extremely grateful that Thomas used himself as an excuse. There was no way he would be able to find another friend with the thoughtfulness that paralleled Thomas'. 

They settled back onto the bar stools again, both of their cheeks rosy with the heat and eyes shining with vibrancy. Thomas gestured for the other bartender ( _not_ Alby, thank you very much) to slide over a beer, and handed it to Newt. He was holding sparkling water in his other hand. 

The glass bottle was raised and Thomas announced, "To your first night on a club dance floor." 

Newt grinned and brought his bottle to meet Thomas'. _Clink_. "And to you for getting your first dancing student," he said, then raised his bottle to his lips.

 _Oh crap. What if he's taught someone else before?_ Newt's mood immediately dampened and he felt silly for hoping for any sign of confirmation in Thomas' eyes.

Thomas laughed in response. "And probably my last!" he said, then commenced to chug his sparkling water. 

Newt's heart lifted again and he drank his beer semi-smugly. _I'm his first and last. Heh._

They kept the conversation light and with the enjoyable hum in his head, Newt felt more relaxed than he had in months. He couldn’t remember last time he got tipsy, and was glad that he was making memories with Thomas. Even though they were only sitting and talking, Newt definitely enjoyed being in Thomas’ company, maybe even more than being in the Glade.

He shortly finished his second beer and the buzz in his head grew steadily. He could also feel his heart starting to beat faster, which was an indicator that he should probably stop, but he wanted to let loose tonight so he called down the bar for shots. One tequila for him, and one non-alcoholic beer for Tommy. 

“Newt,” Thomas said as Alby set down the shots on the countertop with a clank. “You sure about this? Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, stop babying me Thomas!” he exclaimed. He didn’t miss Alby’s sceptical look from behind the counter.

“Thomas is right, Newt, don’t overwork yourself,” he chimed in. Newt nearly made a face. Why did everyone have to baby him? 

With a slight hint of annoyance, he shook his head. “Guys, I can handle it.” To prove his point, he licked the salt off his hand, then threw the shot down his throat with ease. He registered the burn of the tequila at once and marshalled his face into an expression of neutrality, careful not to let any discomfort show on his features. He then proceeded to suck on the lemon wedge, his cheeks hollowing out slightly. _See, I can do it. Not that hard._

Thomas looked at him, smiling in disbelief. He responded by downing his own shot of non-alcoholic beer. “Okay, you impressed me, now stop drinking!” 

Alby pressed his lips into a thin line, then went off to help other partygoers.

 _That’s better. He hasn’t seen Newt in a long while anyways. What right does he have to be so worried?_ Thomas thought, borderline scornful. He was shocked at himself for developing a sense of dislike for Alby even before knowing him – but it could be due to the fact that he didn’t want to share his best friend with anyone else. Minho didn’t count, of course. Anyone _interested_ , that is. 

Newt was still sucking on the lemon wedge, and when the juice was mostly gone, the tip of his tongue poked out to lick the pulp. Thomas’ eyes darted down to his lips and back up to Newt’s eyes.

The sudden and hurried intake of alcohol propelled Newt to a state near drunkenness. “I like this,” he confessed. “I like drinking and talking with you. You make crowded places seem…bearable.”

Thomas laughed and glowed inside. Before he could administer a reply, a body squeezed in front of the two of them. Newt looked up to see a girl with short brown hair scantily clad in a sequined dress. “Thomas!” she gushed. 

Judging from Thomas’ reaction, Newt knew that the girl had to be Brenda. _What are the bloody odds that both our past love interests show up in the same place on the same night?_

“Brenda, hey! What are you doing here?” his smile was only marginally forced, and the only telltale sign that his enthusiasm was feigned was the uncertain pause before he acknowledged the pixie-haired girl. 

“It’s Teresa’s party! I didn’t know you knew Teresa too!” Brenda moved closer to Thomas and laid a hand on his upper arm, squeezing his bicep. “How’d you know her?”

Newt’s heart clenched at the contact and he knew he wasn’t entitled to be jealous. Swallowing his negative emotions, he smiled and waved once at Brenda as Thomas gestured to him.

“I met her through Newt. This is Newt, by the way,” he introduced, and Brenda turned to him, smiling. 

“It’s great to meet you, Newt,” she said. Her sincere tone made Newt feel bad for not liking her. 

“Nice to meet you too,” Newt replied courteously. Brenda gasped. “Ooh, British!” 

He laughed kind of awkwardly. “Yeah, I am.” He was aware that he was cutting off the conversation, so he stood up. “I’ll give the two of you some time alone then.” His stomach had started churning at the discomfort of being with Thomas’ ex. Although he didn’t want to leave promise, privacy would be the right thing to offer them.

He was surprised when Thomas reached out and closed a hand around his wrist. “Newt, stay. It’s fine,” he said, pulling slightly. 

“I should go find Minho anyways,” he lied, but glad that Thomas had asked him to stay. He hoped it wasn’t out of politeness.

“I’ll go with you then,” Thomas said, standing up as well. The look on Brenda’s face was readable – she did not want Thomas to leave. 

Newt sat back down, not wanting to offend her. “I’ll stay then. Don’t let me keep you from talking though,” he said with a smile, turning back to face the bar. Brenda’s animated voice immediately resumed conversation with Thomas, and not wanting to see any further physical contact between the two, Newt waved down another shot and drank it. He grimaced, embracing the bitter aftertaste, and forewent the lemon this time. 

He had another shot again. His head and heart were pounding and it was safe to say that he was past his limit. _I’ll stop drinking when she leaves._

Suddenly, Thomas dug his fingers into Newt’s thigh. The intense touch sent an electric jolt through all of Newt’s leg and made his heart leap up into his throat. The conversation between Brenda and Thomas was still ongoing – Newt knew that the touch was to warn him to stop drinking. 

Compliant because of his affection for Thomas and also because of the slightly uncomfortable rushing in his veins, he turned back around and had no choice but to listen in on the conversation.

“Quite the drinker you are, Newt,” Brenda giggled. “I’ve never had two shots in like, two seconds.” 

Newt forced a smile. “Loosens me up, you know. Takes my attention off of…unwanted thoughts.” There was truth in that.

Thomas glanced at him, seemingly catching the underlying meaning, but then turned back to Brenda.

“As I was saying though, even though Teresa is amazing and super nice, she sometimes can really be a handful. _Such_ a force to reckon with. Not even kidding, she _literally_ makes me want to jump off a building and kill myself sometimes.”

Newt’s heart stopped.

All the blood rushed to his chest. Brenda’s words had brought him back exactly to what had happened. 

As she blabbered on, a ringing started to sound in Newt’s ears. The alcohol in his system propelled his heart to beat harder and faster, and coupled with the trauma he was remembering, he felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. 

His lungs started to close up and it made breathing _so much_ harder. The chatter around him climbed a crescendo and the flashing lights started to make spots dance in front of his eyes. He could hear his heartbeat frantically and it punctuated the shrill ringing in his ears. The room was getting smaller. 

_Shit._

He felt himself slowly getting sweaty, and as he blindly stood up, the room tilted dangerously. He could hear Thomas calling his name distantly, but the ringing and heartbeat in his ears drowned out everything else. 

_I have to…get out._

He fumbled blindly to find his footing as his surrounding swerved, and desperately thrashed his way through the sea of people to find the exit. 

_Am I dying?_

It felt like the air was being siphoned out away from him, and Newt swallowed to lubricate his extremely dry mouth. He was half panting and gasping, positive that he was going to choke any second. 

He burst into the pavement outside the club and gasped to fill his lungs with the cool night air to no avail. He still couldn’t breathe – and collapsed onto the floor, gagging. _Fuck, I’m actually dying._

Thomas charged through the doors after Newt and immediately started talking to Newt. “Newt, can I touch you?” he asked, his voice almost undiscernible amongst all of the ringing. 

Newt couldn’t bring himself to nod his head, so Thomas took his silence as consent. Taking a shaking and gasping Newt into his arms, he slowly moved his hand up and down vertically on Newt’s back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Newt. C’mon, breathe with me. Inhale…exhale…that’s right. Inhale…out again. Inhale…that’s it, you’re doing great champ, take it slow…”

Starting to breathe properly again, Newt began to feel grounded by Thomas’ presence and voice. The ringing in his ears started to dim and his heart was pumping a little less vigorously.

With still slightly ragged breathing, he swallowed and retched again as bile rose in his throat. He nearly emptied the contents of his stomach onto the street, but with Thomas’ hand rubbing soothing circles on his chest, the uncomfortable urge ebbed. After two minutes of practicing breathing, he finally felt his lungs start to expand to their usual size.

Thomas took Newt’s hands into his, and realized they were violently trembling. “Oh, Newt…” he said in a heartbroken voice. 

Now that the adrenaline of the panic attack was flowing away, Newt could feel the chills that were running through his body. He was freezing, a stark contrast to the sweaty waves he was feeling a while ago. 

Even with a pounding head, his consciousness began to trickle in again. _I just had a panic attack in front of Thomas._ He registered. _Fuck, he must hate me now._

He looked up at Thomas helplessly and his eyes began to fill with tears. _Shit, don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare._ He retained the last sliver of his dignity by managing not to let the tears fall. 

Thomas hugged him, pulling his head close into his chest and the musky, minty scent of his shirt immediately calmed Newt down even more. Letting out a shaky breath, he allowed himself to be weak and to melt into Thomas’ embrace. 

“I got you,” Thomas mumbled against Newt’s hair. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

* * *

The walk back was short and mostly silent. Newt was, for the thousandth time, thankful that Thomas didn’t press for the reason of his panic attack. _He deserves to know,_ Newt thought. _I have to tell him._

As Thomas’ walk slowed to a stop, Newt looked up from his shoes and was surprised to see that they weren’t at his dorm. “What…”

Thomas unlocked the door and gently nudged Newt in. “This is my place. I want to be able to care of you tonight,” he said. 

Newt didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed, so he just walked in wordlessly. Even under the influence of alcohol and a panic attack, he still remembered to be polite, so he took his shoes off and stood in the hallway.

Thomas’ place was small but neat. Newt couldn’t really see anything in the dark, but he knew that Thomas’ artistic taste had done the place justice when Thomas guided him to the sofa. 

He plopped Newt down on it and grabbed him a glass of water. “Drink,” he said softly. “I would give you painkillers but medicine doesn’t mix with alcohol.” 

Newt took the glass thankfully and gulped it down, the water helping with his dry mouth and his trembling. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, feeling like hell and even worse for putting his burden on Thomas. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t apologize,” Thomas said, throwing a blanket over Newt. “It wasn’t your fault.” He stood up and went behind the sofa. Before Newt knew what he was doing, Thomas had taken his head into his gentle hands and began massaging the temples. 

_That feels so nice._

The pain immediately retreated bit by bit, and Newt drowsily closed his eyes. “Thank you, Tommy.” 

_I called him Tommy again. I’m a mess._

Thomas was silent but the comforting circles on Newt’s temples subsisted. 

“I was wondering when you’d call me that again,” he said after a minute.

Newt’s shaky heart stuttered.

“You called me Tommy for the first time when we were hanging in your dorm a while ago.”

“I…didn’t think you noticed,” Newt admitted.

“I liked it. No one’s called me that before. But you never called me that again, so…” Thomas trailed off and his hands dropped to his side. Newt’s headache was nearly gone.

He turned to face Thomas. “Can I call you Tommy then?” he asked, with an uncertain smile on his face.

Thomas smiled and scratched his head sheepishly. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Then he moved beside Newt and gently took his leg. Without even asking, he started rubbing Newt’s bad leg, and the pain there eased as well.

Newt stifled a moan of satisfaction as Thomas’ fingers worked into the sore muscles. His head was starting to get hazy because of how comfortable he was. “Thank you, really,” he said again, guilty for letting Thomas pamper him like this.

Thomas shook his head. “We’re friends. I should be doing this.”

 _Yeah, friends._

After a while, Newt reached over to squeeze Thomas’ hand, indicating that he could stop. Thomas gradually stopped pressing and settled back into the couch. The two sat in silence.

The silence wasn’t as comfortable as Newt was used to. He could feel the lingering unsureness and the unspoken questions between the two, and it was creating tension.

“I tried to kill myself.”

Thomas looked over to him, his expression unreadable. “Newt. You don’t have to.” 

Newt shook his head. He at least owed Thomas an explanation. “Back in England. Before I transferred here. My sister Sonya died from a car crash, and when I lost her…I jumped and tried to kill myself too.” 

He didn’t dare look at Thomas, and he was most afraid of the pity that he was going to receive. 

“That’s how I got my limp. And because I wanted a new start…I transferred.” 

Thomas made no response save from putting his hand on Newt’s leg. “I’m proud of you.” That was all he said, and Newt’s heart lightened now that the burden of his secret was lifted. 

“Only Minho knows,” he told Thomas, turning towards him. 

Thomas nodded. “You can trust me.”

“I know.” Newt smiled and feebly punched Thomas on the shoulder. “That’s why I told you.” 

They sat for a while more in silence, and this time it was Thomas who broke it. “Since we’re coming clean. I don’t actually have an alcohol allergy.”

Newt’s eyebrows raised. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I had a drinking problem.”

Newt’s heart immediately ached for the younger boy. He was only 19, yet he already had faced something so tough.

“My dad left when I was really young. When I was 16 or 17, my mom met a guy, and he was great at first. Until he started hitting my mom, and me whenever I tried to intervene. I hated him and no matter what I said or did, she wouldn’t leave him. I got angry, and I started hanging with the wrong crowd. I abused the heck out of any alcohol I could get my hands on. I got really addicted really fast.” He closed his eyes and Newt knew that it was difficult for him to voice out his past. 

“Until I realised that this anger was making me become him. So I stopped drinking any alcohol. And I haven’t ever since.” 

Newt didn’t know how to react, yet he felt that their hearts were on the same level of vulnerability right now. He reached to pat Thomas on the back. 

“I’m proud of you too, Tommy.” 

They exchanged a smile, glad for each other’s simple understanding. In that moment, Newt thanked his lucky stars for bringing Thomas into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and the angst and have gained a better understanding of both of the boys' past!! Sorry for making you all wait so long but college has just been absolutely hectic omg but I hope the intensity in this one makes up for the wait :P
> 
> Anyways, don't forget to let me know what you think in the comments and leave your kudos! xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tattoos and touches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii! Oh my goodness, first of all, I'm sorry for being AWOL for so long! I'm finally back from my hiatus, and you all have my exams to thank for that. Studying law is definitely not as easy as you would think. However, what matters is that I'm back with another chapter and more Newtmas action. Enjoy ;)

After getting both their burdensome pasts off their chests, Thomas got up to make some chicken noodle soup. The bedside clock was flashing 1:38AM, and despite having drunk so much alcohol, Newt felt like he had enough energy to stay up to talk to Thomas – and that he actually wanted to. 

“Here,” Thomas said, setting down two steaming bowls on the coffee table. “So we don’t get upset stomachs tomorrow.”

Newt gratefully shovelled a spoonful into his mouth, and closed his eyes in the blissful, familiar savoury taste. “Mmm. This is good.”

Thomas laughed and followed suit. “It’s just out of a packet, Newt.”

Newt shrugged. “Still good.” 

“So.” Thomas rubbed his hands on his thighs, changing the subject. “I finished my first acrylic painting for my portfolio yesterday.”

“Let’s see it,” Newt said, flattered and excited that Thomas was offering to show him his art. 

Thomas disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with a large canvas. Settling back onto the sofa, he laid the canvas carefully onto the coffee table, almost covering it with its size.

The painting was breathtaking – it was a simple one of Newt’s favourite bluebells, and it seemed like Thomas had taken the advice Newt gave him really seriously. The colour and the structure of the plant was incredibly lively and well-captured even in the dimly lit room, and Newt was mesmerized at the dimension Thomas managed to create. 

“What do you think?” Thomas said, anxious to get Newt’s approval. He knew Newt was very critical when it game to anything about plants – and if Newt liked it, that meant he did a good job.

Newt cleared his throat. “I’m no art expert, but this is one of the best paintings I’ve seen, especially of bluebells,” he said. “I really like how you used kind of small brush strokes on top of wide ones here--” He reached to point at the base of the flower…and knocked over the glass of water that was next to the painting.

_Shit shit shit_

Newt froze, petrified that he had wrecked Thomas’ painting.

In a flash, Thomas’ shirt was off, and he was using it to mop up the water on the canvas.

“I am _so_ sorry--”

Thomas laughed. “Don’t worry, clumsy. It’s acrylic, the water won’t penetrate through the paint or the canvas.” He was delicately brushing away the droplets and Newt noticed how his biceps rippled when he used his arm like that.

He swallowed and shook the thought out of his head. It was the second time he’d seen Thomas shirtless, and he seemed to have gotten more attractive than the first.

He didn’t realize he was staring until Thomas’ eyes turned to meet his. The blush on his face flared and he quickly averted his gaze back onto the painting, grateful that the only source of light was from the lamp.

“Actually,” Thomas said, setting his shirt down. 

_Can you please put your shirt back on before I embarrass myself?_

“I’ve never told you what my tattoos mean.” 

Newt let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Well, I’ve never asked,” he retorted.

Thomas raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Okay, I won’t tell you then.” He started to put his shirt back on, and out of impulse, Newt’s hand shot out to stop him.

Thomas smirked as if to say _I thought so._

Newt rolled his eyes. “Okay, you tattooed hunk, tell me what your markings mean.” 

Thomas shook his head. “I’ll wait until you ask next time.”

Newt laughed in disbelief. _Great, you screwed up._ He was almost sure Thomas was flirting with him – but he abandoned that notion because he was sure someone like Thomas wouldn’t like himself, and they were just friends. 

In that brief moment, Newt waited for Thomas to re-clothe himself – but he made no move to. _Why is his bloody shirt still off?_

Newt cleared his throat and tore his gaze off Thomas. “Anyways, the painting looks amazing,”

“And the tattoos don’t?” Thomas challenged. 

_Bloody hell. What is he doing?_

Newt turned to meet Thomas’ intense gaze. “Okay Tommy, I’m asking. What do they mean?” he said, half exasperatedly.

The smirk etched on Thomas’ cheeky face widened. He stretched like a cat (his muscles becoming more prominent with every movement) and cleared his throat. “Well, if you really want to know…” 

Newt rolled his eyes and snorted to make it out like he was annoyed, but truth to be told, he really was quite intrigued by the ink on Thomas’ body – he had been since the moment he laid eyes on the hazel-eyed boy.

“So you know about my first one. The wings on my ankle. I explained that. Now, the next one I got, I think, is this one.” He pointed to a set of Roman numerals on his shoulder. “This is my mother’s birthday in roman numbers. And then.” He reached over to the other shoulder, which bore a tattoo mirroring the style of the other shoulder. “These numerals are mine. To remind me that I have her and myself on my shoulders, that I need to take care of us both. And also to remind me not to forget where I belong.”

_That’s so sweet._

“And then I got this one.” He gestured to the eagle with spread wings across his entire upper chest (that complemented his pecs oh so well). “Symbolizing courage and focus – I know, it’s really cliché, don’t judge – and power as well. To remind myself that I am strong enough to tackle what I have to.” 

_You can tackle me anytime._

“Then the next one is this one.” Thomas turned around, and Newt’s breath caught in his throat. _He is so bloody gorgeous._

A prowling tiger was inked vertically onto the left side of Thomas’ entire back. The tail curled up and fell into the nooks of Thomas’ back muscles, and where the muscles rose, the tiger’s stripes stood proudly on the skin. Newt could still see the tiger’s beautifully drawn face above the band of Thomas’ trousers, but his two front paws disappeared into his pants. Newt could only image what they would look like settled on Thomas’ lower back.

Above the tiger, right beneath his shoulders close to the roman numerals, a phrase was marked split in two. On the left shoulder, ‘my glory’; on the right, ‘is fleeting’. 

Newt subconsciously walked closer to Thomas, itching to lay a finger upon the exquisite wording. 

“The tiger is…pretty self-explanatory. I got it from a famous tattooist back home and when I said I wanted something to protect me…” Thomas broke off and gave a half-hearted laugh. “Seems like I’m always looking for protection.” 

Newt was standing right behind Thomas now, focusing on his movements as he talked rather than the tattoos. 

“And then, the quote.” Newt’s fingers were trembling slightly as they travelled upwards to land on the inky words. His tentative touch grazed Thomas’ skin as lightly as a butterfly’s, and the instant their flesh came into contact, Thomas inhaled sharply – it was barely noticeable, but with his fingers on Thomas’ back, Newt could feel the intake of breath. 

“Mhmm,” Newt prompted, his tone coloured with caution and longing, balanced on a tight string.

His fingers proceeded to trace the outline of the letters. M..Y…

The tension between them sparked like a firecracker. Not quite ready to go off, but it was definitely there. 

“The quote,” Thomas said, his voice lower and more muted than before. “To remind myself that nothing lasts.” His voice was coloured with a raspy hint of melancholy, and – was that longing?

G…L…O…

Newt swallowed thickly. “It’s beautiful.” His voice was softer than a whisper, not wanting to break the delicate haze within the intimacy they shared.

R…Y…

Thomas swallowed audibly, evidently echoing Newt’s indescribable feeling in the moment. “You think so?”

Newt nodded, then realised that Thomas couldn’t see him. “I know so.” 

Thomas turned around to face Newt, and he was immediately aware of how close they were standing. “What about these?” he questioned, placing his fingertips on the waves on Thomas’ right bicep.

“To remind me to be resilient,” Thomas answered softly. “Like the sea.”

“And this one?” Newt trailed his finger down Thomas’ right side, flitting across his chest and abdomen vertically.

Thomas’ eyes fluttered shut as he took a shaky breath.

“Uh – something about…faith,” Thomas replied vaguely. It was clear that he had no intention to elaborate.

 _How did we end up like this?_ Newt thought. _I can’t let this go on. He doesn’t see me that way. This is not going to end well._

He let his hand drop to his side and cleared his throat. “Very artistic, Tommy,” he finalised, mussing Thomas’ hair up in an affectionate yet purely friendly moved.

Thomas’ eyes opened and he lowered them as he smiled. “Thanks, Newt.” 

Newt was too busy recomposing himself, he didn’t hear the disappointment in the other boy’s voice.

“We should probably go to sleep,” Thomas changed the subject, scratching the back of his head. 

“Yeah,” Newt echoed thickly. “Don’t want a bad hangover tomorrow.”

There was a brief silence where Newt felt helpless. Where was he going to sleep?

“I’ll take the couch--”

“You can sleep in my bed if you like,” Thomas interrupted. “It’s a queen bed. It’s big enough.”

Newt’s heart lurched at the offer, but he schooled his mouth to say contrary to what his mind was thinking. “No, really. I couldn’t. I don’t want to intrude any more than I have.”

Thomas’ face morphed into one of disbelief. “Newt, are you kidding me?”

Newt rubbed his face with his hand. _Do you know how hard it will be for me to rein myself in if I’m in the same bed with you?_

He sighed. “If you don’t mind.”

Thomas reached over and punched Newt’s arm. “Of course I don’t, you shuckface. C’mon.” 

As he followed Thomas into his bedroom, Newt reprimanded his mind to stay strictly in the boundaries that he had so carefully established – only friends, nothing more, nothing less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter :3 Sorry it's relatively short, but my exams just ended and I literally could not wait to post something! I promise the next one will be longer!
> 
> Don't forget to leave your kudos and comments!! xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! :3 Please read the authors note at the end after you've finished reading this chapter!  
> Thank you x

Newt could feel a ray of pleasant sunlight streaming in on his face before he opened his eyes. It was the kind of light where the sun was still sort of diffused – not too harsh, because of the cotton-like clouds that masked the radiant orb; and only barely visible because it peeked through the drawn curtains.

He sighed in content, eyes still closed. _This feels nice. Why doesn’t the sun shine more like this?_ He felt as if there was warmth radiating from the bed as well, which made him feel much cosier than usual. 

His eyes opened sleepily – and he realized he wasn’t in his dorm. 

_What the…_

He blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling, confused at what he saw.

_Where…?_

He turned onto his side to survey his surroundings -- and all drowsiness rushed out of him when he saw the muscled back lying to his left.

_Thomas._

It all came flooding back to Newt – last night’s party, the panic attack, Thomas taking him back here, to his own place, and their exploration of Thomas’ tattoos … and now, he was sleeping in Thomas’ bed.

The blonde boy’s heart immediately started beating faster as he finally registered the proximity between him and Thomas. _That’s why the bed was radiating warmth._ He realized dumbly. _It was him._

Judging from the slow and steady breathing he heard and the rhythmic movements of Thomas’ smooth, half-tattooed back, Newt knew that the younger boy was still asleep. Newt rolled back onto his back, releasing a slow and long breath. 

_Friends always sleep in the same bed. It’s fine._

He lay there idly for a while, enjoying the barely audible sound of Thomas’ slow, sleepy breathing, and turned on his side again to look at Thomas’ back tattoo. Now that Thomas was unconscious, he had the chance to _really_ look at the impressive tiger on his back.

The black and white creature stretched all the way from Thomas’ shoulder down to his –

_Shit. Is he wearing any pants?_

Newt instantly flipped onto his back, resisting the urge to rocket up on the bed. The sheets were covering Thomas’ lower half of the body, but they were dangerously close to revealing what lay underneath – and Newt couldn’t tell whether Thomas was wearing anything.

While telling his mind sternly to not react the way it was, Newt simply couldn’t resist rolling onto his side yet again to keep looking at the tattoo. His heart was hammering in his chest, and given how close he and Thomas was, he was positive Thomas could feel its frantic pounding. 

Careful not to let his eyes travel lower than they should, Newt focused on the needlework of the tiger on Thomas’ upper back. His finger traced the curved tail gingerly, outlining the Tiger’s body.

Unexpectedly, Thomas shifted – Newt froze – and rolled onto his back, even closer to Newt. Newt sat up incredibly slowly, trying not to move or disturb Thomas – or worse, wake him --and leaned against the headboard. 

Even though Newt was mortified at the possibility that Thomas had felt him tracing his tattoo, he was struck by the serene look on Thomas’ face when he was asleep. 

When Thomas was asleep, no intensity remained on his face. The crease between his eyebrows that always appeared due to focus when he was drawing had disappeared, and the way his mouth was slightly ajar made him look younger and completely off-guard. 

Looking at Thomas’ face, he realised little details that he never had before, because he was too scared that he would be staring at Thomas and that it would come off as creepy. Like how long his eyelashes were, and how his jaw was also scattered with tiny, barely perceptible moles. 

It didn’t escape Newt’s notice that Thomas had bruise-coloured half-circles under his eyes, and how the purply veins stood out on Thomas’ delicate eyelids. He knew that Thomas had it difficult, Newt could tell that he was tired – and yet, he was still so giving, and still so attractive.

Newt felt a torrent of affection surge through his heart. He always knew Thomas was extremely good-looking, but the softness on his face made him look absolutely _breathtaking_ \-- he was beautiful. His heart was beating so hard with longing for the other boy.

_What are you doing to me, Tommy?_

His eyes travelled down to Thomas’ chest and drank in the tattoos embossed on his skin. Despite his best efforts to not touch him, Newt’s fingers had a mind of their own. Habitually gentle because of how much he handled plants, his finger was incredibly soft as it went over the smooth, dark lines of the eagle. 

Just as he reached the tip of the wing, Thomas let out a sleepy sigh – Newt’s hand immediately recoiled and his eyes darted up to Thomas’ face to check if he was still asleep – and when the hazel-eyed boy showed no signs of awakening, Newt resumed silently admiring his tattoos.

Until Thomas’ leg kicked off some of the blanket – and revealed that all he was wearing were briefs. Tight, Calvin Klein ones.

Newt turned away abruptly and shut his eyes, suddenly _very acutely aware_ that he was sporting a raging boner that he had no control over – 

_Bloody hell. Bloody hell. I can’t do this._

He swallowed once, his mouth dry from sleep (and maybe something else) and rubbed his face, exhaling. Carefully, he reached over and covered Thomas’ body with the sheets again, ignoring the persistent thrum of desire running up his spine like electricity. 

Thomas sighed in content again and rolled onto his side, this time facing Newt -- _Okay, at least we’re not touching_ \-- and Thomas had the _audacity_ to drape one arm across Newt’s lower body –

Newt stiffened. _Shit shit shit_

He was holding his breath, religiously trying not to breathe and to think of something else. _His arm is literally inches away from –_

_Okay. Knock it off. He’s still asleep. He probably sleeps like this when I’m not around. He’s not trying to hug me. Stop, it Newt._

With iron will, Newt finally made his breathing return to normal and his heart rate slow down. He shook his head as if that would clear it of any thoughts that shouldn’t be there.

“Stop thinking.”

Alarmed, Newt glanced down to look if Thomas had spoken. The boy’s eyes were still closed, but Newt’s suspicions were confirmed when he spoke again.

“I can hear you thinking. Stop thinking and go back to sleep,” Thomas mumbled.

Newt let out a laugh. “Sorry, did my thinking wake you?”

_Wait. Is he consciously sleeping in this position?_

Eerily, it was almost like Thomas had heard Newt think this thought. At that moment, he withdrew his arm that was draped over Newt and turned to unfurl his body into a stretch.

“Mmm. Yes it did.” Sleepily, he cracked an eye open like an alligator.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Newt chuckled fondly.

“Morning Newt,” Thomas replied happily. He shut his eyes again and the serene, lazy look was still on his face. Strangely, Newt felt not at all out of place. Looking at Thomas’ face, he felt like he belonged – he felt like he was made to wake up next to Thomas every day. 

Then he sat up sharply. _So much for serenity._ “Shit, I’m sorry. You must be hungover and hungry. Lemme fix you something. And do you want to shower or something?” 

Newt was in disbelief. How did Thomas go from pleading him to go back to sleep to full-on ‘I’m ready to cook you breakfast’ mode in two seconds?

“Tommy,” he chided. “Relax. I’m fine.” Surprisingly, he was – Thomas’ late night chicken noodle soup did help ease the morning-after discomfort.

Thomas pushed the covers away and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. “No, you’re at my place, I should make you breakfast. You can’t say no.”

With sudden courage, Newt’s hand shot out to grab Thomas’ arm and yanked him back onto the bed. He must have taken Thomas by surprise, because the usually strong boy tumbled back onto the bed. 

“Just show me where the extra towels are and I’ll go shower first. You can lay in bed for a little.”

Thomas shook his head but Newt could tell how much he wanted to.

“Tommy, I’m your friend. You don’t have to wait on me like this,” he added for good measure.

“Good point,” Thomas conceded. “Spare towels are on the rack in the bathroom. The blue one’s mine, the white one should be unused.”

Newt gave Thomas a smile, smug that he had convinced Thomas that he didn’t need babying, then trotted off to the bathroom to take a cold shower.

* * *

After both of them showered (separately), they decided to go to Homestead to have a hearty morning-after breakfast that would help rid their system of any leftover alcohol.

Thomas shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth was an endearing sight. It was strange to Newt, how even from Day 1, he never saw Thomas as the tough, scary, mysterious bad boy that he looked like – Newt always saw the little kid underneath. 

And after last night, it seemed like his bond with Thomas was consolidated. They had both bared their weaknesses to each other and sympathized with each other on a soulful level – something Newt hadn’t been able to achieve with anyone, not even Minho. They were somehow closer, even though no words were explicitly spoken to point this out.

Thomas looked up from his plate, his hazel eyes connecting with Newt’s. “What?” his mouth was half full, and Newt couldn’t help but smile.

“Nothing.” He shook his head, feeling his neck and ears starting to get warm because Thomas caught him looking. 

After that, they ate in comfortable silence – only relatively though, Homestead was still buzzing with its usual weekend brunch crowd. Stealing glances at Thomas, Newt realized how much he liked spending time with him. Even when they weren’t talking, it didn’t feel awkward at all. 

“By the way,” Thomas brought up, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I got the job at WCKD.”

Newt’s eyes grew wide. “Thomas, that’s amazing! Congratulations! You didn’t even tell me when you went into the interview!”

Thomas laughed. “That way, even if I didn’t get the job, I wouldn’t need to face much shame.” He shrugged. “All ended well, though.”

“I’m so impressed, you’re the first Glade student that I actually _know_ that’s gotten a job there.” 

“I’m sure it’s more hyped up that it should be,” Thomas replied, ever so modest. 

Newt raised his eyebrows. “Mhmm,” he dismissed, forking more baked beans into his mouth. “Sure, Tommy.”

Thomas laughed, knowing that Newt wasn’t budging. “You should come see me work sometime.”

Newt’s heart swelled. “Sure,” he said nonchalantly, his carefree expression not matching the excited little dance his heart was doing. “Am I allowed to, though? Won’t they mind?”

Thomas shrugged. “They probably won’t. You could be my potential customer for all they know. You don’t have to come though, just if you want.” 

_If I want? What kind of question is that?_

“I’ll come if you spend your off-work hours in the Glade,” Newt bargained.

_Where is this confidence coming from?_

Thomas cracked the lop-sided grin that Newt loved. “Don’t I already though?” 

“Yeah, you do. Fair.” Newt realised how what he said could come off as desperate – and he immediately backtracked. “You really don’t have to, I was just kidding.” 

“It’s my favourite place to be when I draw.”

_Did Thomas just...wink? Is he flirting? He can’t be._

“Newt!” 

_Are you kidding me?_

He knew it was Alby from his voice before he turned to raise a hand in greeting. He could only imagine the look on Thomas’ face.

“Hey, Alby. Fancy bumping into you again.” 

“Yeah, that party was crazy last night. Here for a pick-me-up breakfast, presumably like you guys?”

Alby dragged a chair and plopped himself at Thomas’ and Newt’s table. Newt sneaked a glance at Thomas – his face was slightly stony; unreadable. 

“Yeah,” Newt said, at a loss for anything else he could say. This was awkward; he could outwardly feel that Thomas didn’t feel at ease with Alby. Yet he didn’t want to be rude. 

“You don’t seem too hungover though. That’s good,” Alby noted, putting a hand on Newt’s upper arm and squeezing.

_Why did he do that?_

Thomas cleared his throat. “Yeah, I made sure he didn’t have too much to drink.” 

“Thomas, right?” Alby turned to Thomas for the first time as if he just noticed he was there. “Thanks for taking care of Newt.” He said it like Thomas was doing _himself_ a favour, as if he was taking care of Newt for Alby.

“Don’t worry about it. He slept well last night.” Thomas’ tone was cordial, but Newt didn’t overlook the steel in his eyes.

_He did not just say that._

Alby looked taken aback. His eyes clouded and he looked over Newt quickly – Newt knew what it looked like, him being in his clothes from the night before.

“Oh. Are you two…?” 

“What? No. No, we’re not. We’re just friends,” Newt replied hurriedly.

Thomas looked down. “Yeah, what he said.” Newt surveyed his face for any signs of _anything_ \-- but Thomas’ face remained its normal neutrality.

“Oh.” The tone of the ‘oh’ from Alby was significantly different this time, and his eyes cleared up. “Well, I meant what I said last night, Newt.” He turned to Newt earnestly.

“Pardon?” 

“I really miss hanging out with you. It’s my final year, so…” Alby shrugged. “We should catch up again. Before I leave this place.”

He was so sincere, Newt didn’t know how to react. And yet, it was so embarrassing with Thomas there – the situation had to be handled delicately.

Thomas remained silent. 

Newt swallowed. “Yeah, of course.” 

Alby beamed the smile that used to make Newt go weak in the knees. “Come by the bar sometime. I’ll hook you up with free drinks, food, anything.” 

With that, he looked at his watch and stood up, taking the chair with him. “Alright, I’m gonna get my food now and get out of your hair.” 

Newt smiled and waved as Alby left to join the line for food. He turned to Thomas, nervous.

Thomas was calmly spearing his fork into the remainder of his breakfast, but Newt could see that his jaw was tight.

_What do I do? I can’t justify anything – I don’t know how he feels._

Newt was set on staying silent.

_But it’s so evident that Thomas minds._

At last after an internal struggle, Newt decided to change the subject. 

“D’you want to go to the Glade after this?” he asked, partially as a ‘peace offering’, and partially because he didn’t want his time with Thomas to end.

There was a brief pause as Thomas swallowed. His head was still down. When he looked up, he was smiling despite his tight jaw. “Yeah, sure. I could get some drawing done as well.”

Newt’s heart lightened as he saw the usual smile return to Thomas’ face. They went about the Glade as usual, and Newt didn’t know if it was his imagination – but after the encounter with Alby, Thomas seemed more distant.

He crossed his fingers and hoped it was only him overthinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this slightly naughty chapter ;) 
> 
> Anyways, I have a question for you all -- would you like snippets of Thomas' POV as well, or would you prefer it to be all Newt? I have some Thomas-oriented plot planned but I don't quite know how to reveal it; do you want to find out when Newt finds out, or find out via Thomas' POV? Please leave your preferences in the comments! xx
> 
> PS Thomas' POV will still be in third person, just like how it is now, but revolving around Thomas instead of Newt.
> 
> (I phrased this q so badly I hope you know what it means lmao)
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos! x


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas both get confused. Something happens with Minho. Newt gets sick.

The pressure and nerves stemming from rapidly approaching midterms started sinking in the following week. With his exams merely two weeks away, Newt found himself more stressed than usual, and enjoyed being enclosed alone (with the exception of Thomas and Minho) in the Glade while he tried to study on his own. 

Newt didn’t know if Thomas really had become more aloof after that day-after breakfast – they had bared their past and their vulnerability to each other; Newt had expected them to grow closer instead of Thomas pushing him away. _It could just be me overthinking from stress._

For the whole week, whenever they were together, Thomas acted normally for the most part – joking, sometimes laughing, being silently observant and thoughtful -- but sometimes Newt couldn’t help but feel Thomas was distancing himself from him. In the past, Newt had found _possible_ traces of flirting from Thomas (come on, the Netflix and dill text had to have its connotations, right?). Now, only subtle yet polite, friendly affection was left in its wake. 

Staring at Thomas’ muss of brown hair across the table as he hunched over his drawing, Newt wondered, _What have I done wrong?_

Shaking the thought out of his head, Newt growled internally at himself to focus on the plant anatomy notes in front of him. 

_Lateral roots branch off the tap root forming…a robust anchor in the soil…_

He sniffed. His nose was congested. Maybe his brain was too.

His eyes trailed back to Thomas, who was oblivious to his gaze, and completely focused on the charcoal drawing in front of him.

_Get a grip. Stop it. Stop it._

“Focus, Newt,” Thomas murmured under his breath, eyes never leaving the sketch paper.

How Thomas knew Newt’s mind was straying elsewhere, he had no idea.

“I _am_ ,” Newt retorted indignantly. 

“Shh,” Thomas muttered again, as they were in the library. “Then continue.”

Newt stared at the brown hair and reached over, shoving Thomas’ head slightly. Thomas looked up smiling, but the playful shove in reply that Newt was waiting for never came. 

_See, he’s being distant._ Frustration surged up in Newt’s heart, but he was still scared to interrogate Thomas since he didn’t want to make things any worse. Feeling helpless and biting his tongue, he went back to his notes.

* * *

The sun had set outside. After two hours more of Newt studying (or rather, trying to) and Thomas drawing (very successfully), Newt felt himself start to fall asleep. The words were dancing across the page, and Newt’s vision blurred as his eyelids of lead drooped to cover his vision.

Thomas gave Newt’s foot a quick, sharp kick that jolted him back into consciousness. “Wasn’t sleeping,” he mumbled half-defensively.

Thomas loosed a soft laugh, his head still down and pored over his near-completed drawing. “Sure. Let me just finish this up, and then we can leave. You need some rest.” 

Newt rubbed his eyes groggily. “’m fine. Need to study.” He didn’t feel fine though – his head was pounding dully as he blinked. 

Thomas was silent, adding finishing touches to his drawing, and he was comfortable enough with Newt to take his time completing the artwork even though he knew the blond’s eyes were on him. 

“And…voila.” His hands lifted and he looked up at Newt.

_Damn, he’s beautiful._

Thomas’ face was smudged with charcoal and his bottom lip was red from being bitten in concentration. There were dark half-circles under his eyes, but the hazel was still clear and vibrant from the effort and passion it took to make such a good drawing. 

Newt’s eyes flitted down to the painting. Very realistic, very nice – but nothing compared to the beauty that was its artist’s face. 

Thomas’ eyes also dropped to survey the painting. His brow knitted together, no doubt finding an imperfection that was invisible to everyone else.

“It’s amazing,” Newt reassured, not entirely referring to the painting as his eyes beheld its creator. “Whatever flaw you find, don’t change it. It’s perfect.” 

Thomas snorted. “You are _so_ biased, Newt. You haven’t even looked at the painting.”

Newt shrugged. “That’s how good you are.” And that was nothing short of the truth.

Thomas looked up again, his face content and before he knew it, Newt had reached over to wipe away the smudge of charcoal on Thomas’ cheek with his finger. The persistent pull towards Thomas was similar to the pull he felt that night, the pull to feel the brunette’s tattoos. 

Thomas jerked away as if Newt had branded his cheek with a hot iron. 

_Shit._

Newt’s hand immediately recoiled and he could feel his face bursting into flames.

“Sorry, you’ve got --” he gestured to Thomas’ cheek. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. What have you done?_

Thomas immediately looked down, the atmosphere suddenly becoming awkward. 

“Yeah, I know, thanks,” he babbled, reaching up and rubbing the charcoal away roughly with his sleeve. “Got it.”

_What the fuck was that? Why had he reacted like that?_

Newt’s heart was hammering and he felt like he was about to throw up. To calm himself, he gathered his notes in a pile, stuffing them into his folder, a hundred percent positive that the tip of his ears were burning red.

He stood up, the chair’s screech violating the library’s silence. He couldn’t bring himself to care now. Thomas, who had let him trace his fingers over his tattoos, who had stayed while he fell asleep the first time they hung out, who had massaged his bad leg, who had held him during a panic attack -- actually _flinched_ away from his touch.

Newt didn’t know what to feel. He was silent as he stood over Thomas, who was scrambling to tidy up his drawing stuff as well. Newt made no move to help him as he would usually have. 

Thomas’ face was tight as he stood up and his attempt at a smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s go, then,” he said, his tone carefully light. 

Newt knew Thomas well enough to know that his carefreeness was orchestrated. He didn’t press any further – for his sake, to save himself from further humiliation. 

The walk back to Newt’s dorm was tense with silence.

* * *

That night, Newt lay awake on his bed, head roaring and replaying the moment that he never expected to happen. Even Minho’s soft snoring failed to lull him to sleep. 

The way Thomas _yanked_ backwards –

He flipped over in his bed, smothering himself with his pillow, trying to smother the memory too. He was feeling too hot, even with the slight breeze through the open window. 

As the shame and embarrassment ebbed, a profound hurt took its place. Even when Newt drifted off to a fitful sleep, his mind still screamed that it did not understand the reaction of his best friend.

* * *

Newt came up with an excuse to avoid Thomas the next day. 

_Janson’s holding an extra tutorial._

And the next.

_Minho needs my help picking out a gift for Teresa._

And the next.

_I have to answer a skype call from mum._

And the next.

_I’m not feeling well._ Which was true. His stomach was aching, as was his head. 

He knew the excuses were getting lamer and lamer by the day, but his wimpy gut still couldn’t face Thomas after he humiliated himself like that. 

He hunched over his notes on his dorm desk, head pounding. He’d gotten more studying done in the past few days than he ever had – the study material a welcome distraction to stop him from overthinking. _Maybe I’ll get a good grade,_ Newt thought bitterly.

“Hey, you okay? You haven’t even been to the Glade these few days.” Minho came up behind Newt, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m fine,” he answered flatly, running a hand over his face and continuing his mental recital of plant taxonomy. 

“Where’s Thomas? Haven’t seen him a while.” Minho’s question was careful, gingerly prodding sensitive area.

Newt shrugged, playing it off. “Dunno.” 

“Are you two…arguing?” Minho asked again, trying and failing to hide the disbelief in his voice.

Newt rolled his eyes. “No, Minho, we’re not. I’m just tired.”

Minho made no reply except to squeeze Newt’s shoulder. “Whatever it is, feel better soon,” he said gently. 

Newt instantly felt guilty for snapping at Minho. He knew his irritability should not have been released on his ever-caring roommate. “Thanks, mate.” He turned to look at Minho – also to find him looking dimmer and more tired than usual. Which was strange; even during exam season, Minho usually exercised enough to keep himself glowing.

“Hey, are you okay?” it was Newt’s turn to ask the question.

Minho gave a humourless laugh. “Aris ran away.”

Newt’s heart dropped for his friend. “Again?” His unruly little brother always picked the worst times to be rebellious. 

Minho nodded once, curt and tired. “I’m lucky they live close by. I’m going there this weekend to help them.” Newt knew Minho referred to his parents. 

He peered over Minho and, indeed, saw a duffel bag sat atop Minho’s bed, ready for the weekend. Newt’s heart clenched in pain and further resentment towards himself, for not noticing, for being too self-absorbed. 

“If you need anything, just ask,” he told Minho. 

Minho gave a half-hearted smile and after they said their goodbyes, he trudged out of their doorway, carrying himself with a little less confidence than usual.

* * *

When Newt woke, it was already dark outside. He had fallen asleep on his notes, sprawled over his desk. 

_Why’s it so cold?_

He tried to swallow, and his mouth felt like it was full of sand. His throat fared no better – it felt as if someone was rubbing sandpaper on the insides.

_Welp, I’m screwed._

The room swayed before him as he moved to sit up. 

_That’s not good._

He barely reached the trash can under his desk when the wave of overwhelming nausea hit him. He gagged – and emptied the contents of his stomach into the can.

_I’m royally screwed._

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he crawled onto his bed. _Am I shaking?_ Eventually, the nausea subsided, and he lapsed back into a feverish sleep.

* * *

Newt had completely lost track of time. Sporadically falling back asleep, he felt worse every time he woke – his mouth was parched, his stomach rumbling paradoxically with hunger and nausea, and his limbs felt like jellyfish. Every time he tried to stand, cymbals clashed in his head, and he was forced to remain lying on the bed.

_Trust me to get sick right before midterms._

He unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts, hitting Minho’s name. Just as he was about to call his roommate for help, he remembered that Minho was going through difficulties of his own, and felt how insensitive it would be to ask him for help.

_Not Minho._

He pressed the back button and scrolled until he saw the contact that he was so desperately avoiding – and had actually been avoided – for the past few days or so.

Thumb hovering above Thomas’ name, Newt swallowed his embarrassment and deigned to type in a text for help. He knew he was sick enough to need help. He hadn’t eaten for God knows how long. 

With lethargic fingers, he began to type.

_Please come. Need you._

And hit send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not updating for so long! I've been on vacation (to Korea) and my laptop was not with me; I've been itching to write all the time I was there! I hope this chapter makes up for it, even though it's a bit sad and angsty :3
> 
> If you could let me know what you think about the character and relationship development so far (too fast? too slow? not enough details?) in the comments, I would appreciate it greatly! xx
> 
> Don't forget to leave comments and kudos! Muah~


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas takes care of Newt while he lapses in and out of sleep.

Newt vaguely remembered waking up half tangled in the sheets, not knowing what time it was, and retching in the trash can until there was utterly nothing left to leave his system.

He was sure he looked completely pitiful, but he was past the point of caring that he had asked Thomas to see him in this state. It was undeniable that he needed help. 

Before he could find the will to sit up and wet his mouth with the mug of water that sat on his desk, the tenacious throb in his temples pulled him back under.

* * *

He woke with a start, his hair plastered to his forehead which was damp with sweat, and his stomach churned. Habitually leaning over the bed to dry heave, nothing came out of his mouth – he was thoroughly spent. 

Suddenly, something cool pressed to his feverish face; a delightfully welcome sensation. Newt shuddered and looked up with no small amount of effort -- to find Thomas sitting on his chair, bent over himself and holding a towel to his own face. 

His eyes shuttered and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, trying to form a ‘thank you’.

“Shh,” Thomas said quietly, his eyes shining with understanding. “Don’t talk. It’s okay. Drink.”

He held a straw to Newt’s chapped lips and Newt thirstily drank, still wary of the now dormant nausea lurking in his gut.

As his lips released the straw, Thomas used the towel to wipe his face and his mouth. Under his breath, Thomas muttered, “I don’t like seeing you like this. I’m taking care of you until you get better.”

In this fragile state, Newt very nearly started crying. The previous awkwardness was no longer present, and it was clear that Thomas putting anything and everything aside to take care of Newt. His heart thudded with gratefulness as Thomas helped him flip his pillow over to the cool side and situate the cloth onto his forehead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Thomas apologized as Newt closed his eyes, feeling fractionally better. “I came as soon as I got your text – I was in the middle of a tattoo.”

_I wonder if he was getting one or giving one?_

“I was giving one, of course,” Thomas continued, just like he had heard the question that Newt hadn’t voiced. “At WCKD.” 

Newt raised a hand and tapped his index finger on his wrist, asking Thomas what time it was.

“It’s 12am,” Thomas said. “You sent me a text at 5.”

Doing some brief mental calculations told Newt that he hadn’t eaten or awoken properly in 24 hours. He groaned inwardly with dread at the wasted time and the substantial pile of notes waiting to be studied. 

The end of his bed dipped as Thomas clambered onto it, gently taking Newt’s bad leg and massaging it. Comfort flooded into his limbs as he let out a weak whimper of content. Thomas’ fingers worked through all the knotted muscles in his legs, allowing relaxation to finally take over Newt’s body. 

“Thank you,” Newt whispered.

Thomas smiled in the dark. “Thanks for texting me.”

The words lingered unspoken in the air: _Even after what happened._

“I probably would have died if I didn’t call for help,” Newt said hoarsely, only half joking.

Thomas laughed once. “Like I would let that happen.”

Newt was too tired to even be confused or overthink about what that meant. “Hmm.” 

“Do you think you can eat anything?” Thomas moved on to his other leg.

At the sound of ‘eat’, the nausea reared its ugly head, and Newt veered over the edge of the bed to puke back up the water he had just consumed. Tears of shame burned his eyes. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Thomas leaped off the bed, crouching in front of him. One hand rubbed tender, soothing circles on his back, and the other steadied the trash can that Newt so unattractively purged his stomach in.

The attempt to push Thomas away with feeble, given that Newt had barely an ounce of strength left. 

“Newt…” Thomas swallowed and the pain in his voice was evident. Newt didn’t dare think that the brunette was feeling distressed _for him_ , and that he couldn’t bear to see himself like this. 

“You don’t have to see this,” Newt croaked.

“No,” Thomas said firmly. “I’m taking care of you no matter what you say.” 

Something like frustration sparked at the back of Newt’s mind.

_Then why did you flinch away from me?_

He gave no reply, but set his mouth in a firm line to stop the tears from spilling. He adamantly faced the floor, unwilling to look at Thomas. 

Of course, to no avail. 

Thomas took Newt’s chin in his fingers kindly and tilted it up.

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Don’t you dare._

Newt looked down and tried to shake Thomas’ grip, afraid to hold his gaze. Thomas wiped the corners of Newt’s mouth with his thumb – with his _goddamn thumb, for Christ’s sake_ \-- and moved to wipe away the traitorous tears that squeezed out from the corner of Newt’s eyes. 

“Hey.” His voice was gentler than Newt had ever heard it. “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” 

It took every last shred of Newt’s willpower not to start sobbing on the spot. _Stop giving me mixed signals, damn you._

Newt gave Thomas a frail shove. “I really don’t want you to see me like this.” 

Thomas’ eyes flared. “You texted me, Newt. And I came at once, dropping everything. Because I care.” 

Anger flashed across Newt’s mind. _Because he cared._

“Is that right?” he asked, forcing all the steel he could into his tone.

Thomas’ hand dropped, the hurt conspicuous on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

_Stop, before you make this any worse. Stop._

Some part of Newt’s delirious mind egged him on, but he managed to shake his head. “Never mind,” he mumbled, furiously rubbing at his eyes and reclining back onto the bed. “I’m sorry.”

He shut his eyes, trying to find comfort. After a few brief moments of silence, Thomas’ hand began softly stroking his hair, giving him a light scalp massage.

 _Why does he touch me like this when I can’t even rub charcoal from his face?_ The confusion was mind-boggling, but Newt’s sick-addled consciousness did not have the energy to think about it. Lowering his defenses, he warmed to Thomas’ touch and sleep found him once again.

* * *

It was cold. Very cold. Teeth-chatteringly cold. Newt gasped, rocketing up in the bed, shivering, and braced himself for the upturn of his stomach. Thomas was prepared and dutifully held the clean trash can in front of Newt as he gagged silently, only bile rising in his throat. The hand that rested on the small of Newt’s back did, Newt admitted grudgingly, bring him solace. 

Thomas’ hand brushed against Newt and he looked up in alarm. Without another word, he jumped up and grabbed Minho’s blanket from his vacant bed, and tucked Newt in. He then proceeded to feel Newt’s forehead for his temperature, and frowned.

“Your fever’s still there…but your hands are cold,” he muttered, more to himself. “Do you feel hot or cold?”

Newt couldn’t stop shivering. “F-freezing.” 

Thomas’ brow creased in worry, knowing that Minho’s blanket wasn’t doing much to make Newt warm.

After two seconds, he sat down next to Newt on the bed. “Scoot over.”

It took Newt’s numb brain a minute to process what Thomas was going to do. His heart started beating faster, exacerbating his headache. 

“N-no, you’ll get sick--”

“Newt, move.”

“I’ll throw up on you.”

“I don’t care.” One look at Thomas, and Newt knew that he wasn’t budging. 

He shifted to the side in resignation and laid down. Thomas proceeded to lay behind him, pressing his front to his back, and wrapped an arm around his waist. Immediately, Newt was enveloped with a citrusy, musky warmth, and even through his foggy state, he could feel every square inch of Thomas’ muscular body against his. 

And it gave him relief beyond he what he could have ever hoped for. 

He could feel the hypnotizing tug of slumber calling to him, but he wanted to be awake to savour this moment – probably the first and last that this would ever happen. 

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, knowing that if he did, it would be something wrong, or something awkward.

He wondered if Thomas felt the same. They spent a few moments in quietude, Newt’s slightly labored breathing the only sound that punctuated the silence. His eyes drooped

The churning in his stomach settled, and even the dull throbbing of his head subsided. He didn’t dare move against Thomas.

“Warmer yet?” Thomas whispered. 

_Jesus Christ, his voice is close._

Newt didn’t register how Thomas’ breath ran down his ear, or how the curve of his backside fit perfectly into Thomas’ front. All he felt was welcoming warmth, endless comfort and almost overwhelming gratitude at the pulse of Thomas’ heartbeat against his back. 

“Mhmm,” Newt murmured. “Thank you.”

“If you keep saying thank you…”

Newt laughed weakly. “I mean it though.” 

After a brief silence, “I’m sorry.” 

Newt’s eyes opened, knowing that Thomas was broaching the subject that both of them had so delicately danced to avoid.

“For what?” His answer was careful.

He felt Thomas shake his head. “If I ever upset you.” 

Newt closed his eyes again. Fine, if Thomas wasn’t going to be specific, he wasn’t going to either.

“You never have. No worries,” he lied, the fib coming to him more naturally than he would have thought.

Thomas’ arm seemed to tighten around Newt’s body.

“Try to sleep.” 

And that was the end of their dialogue. 

Right before he fell asleep, he could have sworn he felt lips press to the back of his head.

* * *

When Newt opened his eyes once more, diffused light peeked through the closed curtains, and the warmth from his side where Thomas had been was gone.

His heart dropped, but physically, he definitely felt a bit better. No surge of nausea came, which was a good sign.

He propped himself up on his forearms and scanned the room. Empty.

_He left._

His eyes caught the note on his table, and he snatched it up to read at once. 

_I’ve just gone to get food. Will hopefully be back before you wake up._

His heart swelled, reprimanding himself to expect that Thomas would just leave. 

_Well, you’re late,_ he muttered, and continued to read the rest of the note.

_Drink. It’s infused with electrolytes so you don’t get dehydrated._

Newt reached for the mug filled with a sports drink, and tentatively drank half of the salty-sweet drink through the straw. _God, it hurts to swallow._

He waited for the nausea, but it never came.

Setting the cup down with satisfaction, he stretched and rubbed his temples. 

The door opened quietly, and Thomas emerged holding two paper bags.

“Looks like I’m late,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry.” 

Newt smiled. “Apology accepted.” His voice was rough with sleep and sick, and he realized that his throat had gotten worse. 

Thomas winced, and dug some lozenges out of the paper bag as he strode across the room. “Open,” he instructed, and Newt obediently complied. He popped one into Newt’s mouth.

_I wonder if he feeds all his sick friends like this._

“While that sets in,” he said. “Do you want to try eating something so you can take medicine?”

Newt shook his head. His appetite was completely gone. 

“I…don’t think I can stomach anything yet.”

As he sat, Thomas pulled a container of chicken noodle soup out of the paper bag. A few days ago, Newt would have gagged and thrown up at the sight and smell of food, but now...maybe a bit of his appetite remained.

“I can try.” Memories from that night flashed through Newt’s mind, how Thomas had cooked chicken noodle soup to nurse their alcohol-full stomachs.

Thomas smiled wryly, no doubt recalling the same memory as well. “I remembered how much you liked this.” He unscrewed the container and dipped a spoon inside. 

_Is he going to fucking spoon feed me?_

Before Newt waited to determine the answer, he reached over and plucked the spoon out of Thomas’ hand, putting it in his mouth.

Thomas’ expression gave nothing away.

“Good?”

Newt nodded, savoring the mild and familiar taste on his tongue. He was surprised it didn’t taste like cardboard, given how severely his sinuses were blocked. 

He dared to take three more sips until his conscience warned him not to push his stomach. 

He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, feeling somewhat content.

Thomas stood up and disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments after with a warm, damp cloth. Without words, he began wiping Newt’s face gingerly, as well as his neck and arms. 

Newt nearly purred in comfort.

When Thomas was done wiping, Newt cracked an eye open, not sure what to say since Thomas had banned him from saying thank you.

“Yes, you’re still not allowed to thank me,” Thomas chuckled. He laid the back of his hand on Thomas’ forehead and the smile slid off his face. “It hasn’t gone down.” 

Newt swallowed. “But I feel better,” he rasped. “And I need to get up.”

Thomas looked at the blonde sharply. “Get up to do _what_ , exactly?”

Newt nearly shrunk back at his fierce gaze. “Study.”

A scoff of disbelief was all Thomas offered. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” 

Newt slumped backwards in defeat, and could do nothing but follow Thomas’ orders to take the fever medicine. 

It didn’t take long to the medicine to make Newt drowsy. After half an hour of idle talking, (Newt lying down facing Thomas, who was sitting on the chair drawing) he dozed off again, unexpectedly thanking this sickness that bridged the gap between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was more of a filler, not much plot development but I hope the interaction between Newt and Thomas is satisfying for you! x
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments please! It means a lot!!! :3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt gets better.

Chapter 12

For the entirety of the next two days, Thomas had stayed with Newt, and left only when absolutely necessary. Newt was slightly surprised and very moved at his dedication to take care of him – even as he lapsed in and out of consciousness, Thomas was always there when he woke. 

That night, when he went to sleep, he had been able to keep half a bowl of chicken noodle soup down, and his fever had (thankfully) receded. One touch of his forehead, and Thomas had known that the fever was no longer present.

_I wonder if he’ll still…_ Newt quickly dismissed the thought, harshly rebuking himself for allowing his heart to hope that he would fall asleep again in Thomas’ arms. 

For even _wanting_ such a…non-platonic thing. For just a brief second, he debated telling Thomas that he was cold, just so he could be encircled in his embrace again. But he knew that it was wrong, and just _selfish_ , to ask Thomas of that under the guise of being sick. 

“You feeling okay?” Thomas asked, ever the Mother Hen. Newt hadn’t failed to notice that Thomas was only ever like that with him – he had never seen the younger boy fuss over other people. 

Newt nodded, still deathly tired but rid of nausea. 

“You need anything?”

Newt was about to shake his head – but paused. “I’d really love to shower.” He didn’t want to imagine what he smelled like, even though he had a blocked nose.

Thomas’ eyebrows raised. He had been helping Newt to brushing his teeth and to the bathroom, but Newt’s legs always gave out before he could stand for too long. It was suspected that the lack of strength was due to the lack of food.

“Can you stand that long?” 

“We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“What if you collapse in the shower?” Thomas’ brow creased in concern.

“Well, you’ll have to carry me out then, won’t you?”

_What the bloody fuck was that?_

Newt bit on his tongue immediately, mentally whipping himself for saying such a forward, borderline inappropriate thing. 

Thomas looked surprised, to say the least. He laughed in astonishment and nodded. “M’kay. I’ll carry you out then.” 

_Are we bloody flirting again?_

Newt’s heart didn’t dare to entertain the possibility as he sat up on the bed. 

He slowly swung his legs over the bed, waiting for the dizziness to subside – and it did. But the moment he stood up, his legs crumpled beneath him, his vision dotted with black stars again.

“Shit.” Thomas rushed to steady him, a hand behind his back and the other on his arm. “Are you sure?”

Newt gritted his teeth. “Yes, Tommy.” He fought to stand back upright. _I’d appreciate it if you stopped feeling like jelly, legs._

Thomas raised an eyebrow at Newt struggling, and without another word, scooped Newt up in his arms.

Newt yelped as the floor swept out from under him. As Thomas’ forearms settled under his knees and the other around his waist, Newt could literally feel his breath snatched from his lungs. Surely Thomas could feel how fast and hard his heart was beating.

Newt’s head was suddenly extra clear, aware that he probably smelled a little less than fresh. Aware that his skin was probably still clammy from the fever. And even more painfully aware of just how _close_ Thomas was, and how achingly _secure_ he felt in his arms – 

“Try your best not to throw up on me,” Thomas said with muted humour, shifting Newt comfortably in his arms as if he weighed nothing.

Newt reached up and put his arm around Thomas’ neck so he now lay complete damsel-in-distress style. 

_I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing._

Newt laughed weakly. “No guarantees.”

The lovable crooked smile appeared on Thomas’ lips again, and Newt realized that the close proximity with the other boy urged him to dot his finger over each and every mole that scattered his skin.

Until he remembered how Thomas flinched away from his touch a few days ago. 

_Okay, no touching then._

“You didn’t have to use this as an excuse to carry me, you know,” Newt said, vaguely smug. 

_Where is this audacity coming from?_

Thomas’ hazel eyes widened, echoing the question that Newt was asking himself.

“Someone’s confident,” Thomas snorted, starting to stride towards the bathroom. 

Newt tried not to revel in Thomas’ steady heartbeat under his solid chest. 

The bathroom wasn’t very far away, and this was the first time that Newt was wishing it had been further away. Thomas gently set Newt down on the counter top, walking to stand between Newt’s legs.

“Up,” he ordered. 

Newt blinked. 

Thomas’ mouth twitched. “Arms. Up,” he chided.

_He’s actually going to fucking undress me._

His tongue tied, Newt found himself at a complete loss for words. Blood rushed to his face and his heart thrummed faster. 

_What the fuck do I do?_

His arms had minds of their own as they automatically obeyed Thomas’ order. Dumbly, they went up above his head and Thomas gripped the hem of his shirt, gently prying it over his head and extended arms, leaving Newt shirtless.

Newt swallowed thickly and lowered his arms, not quite sure where all of this was going. 

When Thomas set the shirt down on the toilet cover, his eyes never once left Newt’s face. 

Newt didn’t miss the conflicted look flash across Thomas’ face. Before he could consider asking him what was wrong, Thomas put his warm hands on either side of Newt’s arms, and rubbed them up and down for a few seconds. “C’mon, hop in the shower. Don’t want to get sicker than you already are.” 

He helped Newt down from the counter, who was bewildered. 

_Thomas, what the fuck are we doing?_

“Uh…” Thomas scratched the back of his head. “I’ll just be outside. Shout if you need me.” With that, he ducked outside the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Newt, in a daze and completely unable to keep up with Thomas’ dynamic, wriggled out of his pants and walked into the shower.

The first blast of near-hot water was like a breath of fresh air. He stood under the running water for a good 10 minutes, letting the stream wash away any of his lethargy and tiredness. It seemed like he hadn’t taken a shower in _forever_. He didn’t realize hot water felt so good. 

After shampooing (twice), conditioning and lathering up his skin with a lavish amount of body wash, he deemed himself clean enough to shut the faucet off. Weirdly, he felt stronger and more energized than before he showered – which was unexpected, since he spent longer standing than he had in the past few bedridden days. 

He emerged from the bathroom, sinuses and head cleared, and the steam billowed out from behind him. Thomas’ silhouette was vaguely visible, his long body slung across Newt’s too-small chair. 

“That was great,” Newt said, noticing how he didn’t sound as stuffy.

“Good,” Thomas replied, handing Newt a cup. “It’s orange juice. For Vitamin C.” 

Newt took the cup and downed it, savouring its zesty tang on his tongue. He hadn’t _really_ tasted anything in so long. His taste buds always had the habit of turning defective when he was sick. As a result, the juice, miraculously, left his stomach rumbling. But he didn’t ask for food; he knew it wasn’t a good idea to eat right before bed. 

So all he did was crawl back onto his bed, stretching his underused limbs and yawning.

_These are fresh._

He looked up at Thomas in half-awe and appreciation. “You changed the sheets.”

Thomas shrugged. “You were finally out of bed, so I figured, why not?” 

Newt’s heart could have burst from the sheer gratitude for Thomas.

“You’d make a really nice boyfriend, has anyone told you that?” By way of saying thanks, Newt toed the dangerous line of flirting again.

Thomas’ eyes shone. “If anyone could judge, it’d be you.” 

It took every inch of his willpower to keep himself composed. _If I didn’t know better, I’d say he likes me._

But he didn’t want to get his hopes up. _He’s probably flirting because it’s fun. Because he can. Or because he feels sorry for me._

The last thought had his heart slowing down, and it slowly sank back down into the pit of his stomach. 

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” he simply said, crawling into the covers. He very nearly added, ‘you’re not my boyfriend’, but he held it back because he knew it would come across as provocative – and extremely bitter. 

He didn’t look at Thomas long enough to gauge his reaction, and judging by the long silence, he had said the right thing to get his message across. 

They continued their idle chat as per usual, Thomas with his sketchbook in his lap and his pencil languishing across the page, and Newt caught in a cycle of dozing off and jerking awake. 

When Newt jerked awake for the third time, he looked at Thomas – and realized the brunette was asleep as well. It was definitely one of his favourite stances of Thomas – his head hanging slightly, angelic face void of all traces of tension and concentration, and chest rising and falling in sleepy, steady breaths. 

_Okay, before I can regret this._

Newt sat up and gently pulled Thomas’ sketchbook and pencil out of his lap, set it on the desk – then proceeded to tug on Thomas’ hand.

No response.

A rush of guilt entered Newt’s heart. _He must be so tired, taking care of me 24/7 and waiting on me hand and foot._ Had it not been for his promise not to apologize anymore, Newt would have made a mental note to extensively apologize the next day.

He tugged again, slightly harder this time – and Thomas’ eyes opened slightly, glazed with sleep and confusion. 

Newt shifted towards the wall and pulled Thomas onto the bed with him. Groggy with sleep, Thomas didn’t even attempt to resist. He yielded to the guidance of Newt’s hand and crawled under the covers next to Newt.

Newt lay back down, his back to Thomas’ front, and his heart sputtered as Thomas wrapped his arms around him. He was well enough to be aware of how close they were, of how treacherously close they were to crossing the border of simple friendship, of how much he wanted to melt under Thomas’ touch – but he shut his mind off, telling himself that this would be the last time he gave in to his _selfish_ desires – and went to sleep.

* * *

If there was one thing Newt regretted not carefully considering before he beckoned Thomas to his bed, it was the awkwardness of the morning after.

Newt had awoken before Thomas. He hadn’t moved at all in his sleep, and found himself in the same spooning position that they had drifted off to sleep in last night. Thomas’ arm was still draped across his body; a warm, comforting weight. He didn’t dare move in fear of waking Thomas. He stayed as still as he could, making his breathing even and slow, and quietly cherished the last moments of Thomas embracing him.

When Thomas woke, he had carefully withdrawn his arms from Newt and sat up. On that cue, Newt had flipped around, pretending to have awoken the same moment Thomas did. They had exchanged soft good mornings and smiles, and Thomas routinely asked Newt whether he felt better – which Newt gave a nod – then the awkwardness settled in.

Neither of them knew what to say, or how to address what had happened. So Thomas had just stood up and went to shower. 

Newt ran his fingers through his hair, his heart aching when he faced the reality of not being sick anymore – which meant not needing Thomas to take care of him anymore. Now that he thought about it, being sick was often utilized as just an excuse to be in close proximity to the younger boy.

Thomas exited the bathroom, his shirtless, God-like body still making Newt’s breath hitch in his throat regardless of how many times he had seen it.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Newt said, cringing at the formality in his voice.

Thomas didn’t notice as he was towelling off his hair. “No worries, man. You’re my best friend.”

_Aaaand I’m fucking friendzoned._

“Our exams start tomorrow; we should definitely…resume studying,” he pointed out, just to change the subject.

Thomas nodded and smirked. “I get it, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Newt’s eyes widened. “Tommy, that’s not what I--”

Thomas laughed and threw a towel at Newt, which he caught. “Newt, Relax. I know.” 

Newt huffed and rolled his eyes. The silence set in again as both of them scrounged for something to say. The uncertainty and tension was so thick in the air that it could be sliced through with a knife.

Thomas shrugged a shirt over his head. “You’ll be okay?” he asked casually.

With a nod, Newt dismissed his worries. “I’ll tell you if I’m not.”

Thomas nodded, and once again, the bite of their politeness stung Newt’s skin. 

“Alright, see you round then.”

“See you.”

As Thomas left Newt’s dorm, Newt stared after him even after the door was shut. Physically, he was fine – but he couldn’t scrape the hollow feeling deep within his heart.

* * *

Their midterms lasted for a week. With the striking realization that their grades were on the line, both of the boys were too absorbed in studying to exchange more than a few words during the whole week. Newt was more than glad to return to his routine of using revision as an attention diversion from the hazel-eyed boy.

Thomas had dutifully texted twice or thrice to check if Newt was okay, which he was – and Newt strictly stopped himself from hoping that he would bring up whatever it was that happened between them. 

After all three of Newt’s midterms had ended, Minho – who didn’t have any written midterms – returned, jovially announcing that Aris had come home again, and had seemed to be temporarily redeemed. 

Seeing his best friend with the light back in him definitely cheered Newt up. With exams over and his sickness defeated, Newt realised he had only one burden (if it could even be called that) on his mind: his relationship with Thomas. 

His mind pointlessly mulled over the moments they shared as Newt surveyed the sorely missed bluebells in the Glade. Too long, he decided, he hadn’t been in the Glade for too long.

_His last exam should have ended. Why hasn’t he texted me yet?_

He let his mind drift away from Thomas, and resumed practising mindlessness staring at his dear plants as he listened to soft Kodaline playing in the background.

_Ping!_

He scrambled to check his phone. So much for mindlessness.

The text, to his surprise (and slight disappointment), was not from Thomas.

It was from Alby.

_Haven’t seen you in a while. Let’s grab coffee._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me, I swear there will be more plot development in upcoming chapters! These two chapters are more for relationship development and characterization :) Hope you enjoy xx
> 
> Any comments/thoughts are welcomed below! Tell me what you wish to see from the boys ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally some plot development!

Newt didn’t open the text for at least a few days. He had been musing on how to reply Alby: ‘sure’ (maybe too eager), or ‘I guess’ (maybe too hesitant), or ‘sorry, I’m infatuated with another guy’? (Definitely too forward. He didn’t want to admit it. Even to himself.)

As he was surveying the growth rate of a string of cherry tomatoes, Thomas stepped in through the doorway of the Glade, a radiant smile on his face. 

“Guess who finished their exams?” he asked, grinning as he strode towards Newt.

“Hey, congrats.” Newt smiled at Thomas, who looked more excited than he had in quite a while. 

“Right back at ya. You finished earlier than me,” Thomas said, settling onto the bench behind Newt. “But by the way.”

Newt turned to look at him with raised eyebrows.

“Have you seen my sketchbook anywhere? I haven’t seen it since I left your room that morning.”

_It’s the first time he’s brought this up. And it isn’t even about us._

Newt squared his shoulders and turned back to the tomatoes, shaking his head. “Nope. Sorry. But I’ll look when I get back.” 

Thomas exhaled. “I have a few others, but that one’s my favourite.” He paused as if that would prompt Newt to reveal where it was.

Newt laughed. “Tommy, I really haven’t the faintest idea where it is.” 

Thomas’ laugh resonated his. “Okay, okay. I’ll keep looking then. Must have dropped it somewhere.” 

They kept each other company in silence like they always did before exams. The quietude was comfortable for once, because of the familiar surroundings that the Glade provided. With Kodaline playing in the background, it was almost as if they had returned to the time period when they first met two to three months ago. 

The mellow music was abruptly punctuated with numerous, rapid _pings_ from Thomas’ phone. Newt’s grip on the hand trowel tightened, as did his chest. He knew that texting pattern. 

_Brenda._

The sudden cease of the notification noises told Newt that Thomas had switched his phone to silent mode.

Thomas muttered a half-hearted apology. Even though Newt was still facing the plants, he could tell from Thomas’ distracted tone, he was fumbling to mute Brenda’s texts permanently.

Jealousy wrenched at Newt’s heart like never before. The memory of Thomas holding him on the bed flashed before his eyes, and he gripped the edge of the table tightly, a desperate attempt to tether himself back to earth. 

His jaw tightened. “You sure you don’t need to get that?” The question sounded sharp, even to his own ears. 

“Nah,” Thomas answered. “She can wait.”

“What does she want anyway?” _Tone it down. He doesn’t need to know how jealous you are._

“Dunno. Usually she just wants attention, wants me to cuddle her or something.” 

_Like you cuddled me, Tommy?_

Newt’s windpipe felt like it was blocked. His chest constricted further as the desire and the bitterness was starting to become too much to bear. 

Breathing hard, he whipped his cell phone out, and typed a reply to Alby.

_Of course. Tell me when you want to meet._

Putting his phone back into his back pocket, the jealousy began to ebb away. Despite feeling hurt and sour at how Thomas behaved like nothing happened between them, Newt was still determined to not be the one who pined over Thomas as the latter faffed around with Brenda.

He didn’t even feel a shred of guilt about using Alby as a distraction.

* * *

Alby’s almost instantaneous reply had Newt retreating back to his dorm and getting ready for dinner that night. 

He didn’t know what to think. A year ago, he would have actually died at Alby asking him out to dinner (he’d said ‘coffee’, but whatever) on a could-be date.

He was still somewhat flattered and excited that Alby was expressing so much interest in him now, but he couldn’t shake the ever-constant bugging in his mind, asking him _how would Thomas feel if you went on a date with Alby?_

He swiftly banished the thought, scoffing at how Thomas didn’t mind brandishing Brenda in front of his face while Newt _clearly_ cared about him as more than a friend.

Straightening his slightly dressy grey sweater, Newt told himself that this start with Alby would also mark the start of him renewing his acceptance that Thomas would never like him the way he liked Thomas. 

“Newt, have you seen--” Minho’s question trailed off as he was cut short. “Are you going on a _date?_ ”

He stepped out from the bathroom – naked in all his glory.

Newt yelped and spun around. “Jesus Christ, Minho!” He reached for the towel on Minho’s bed and tossed it backwards blindly.

Minho chuckled as he caught it. “Sorry bud, you caught me by surprise.” 

Newt shuddered. “I didn’t need to see that,” he winced. 

“But are you?” Minho pushed inquisitively, tying the towel around his waist.

“Am I what?” 

A noise of impatience escaped Minho. “Going on a date, you slinthead.” 

Newt contemplated for a while, and finally replied, “Yeah, I guess.”

Minho’s grin was so wide; it nearly split his face in two. “ _Finally._ From the day you two met, I knew there was something--”

“Minho.”

“You were practically _pining_ over him--”

“Minho!”

“But with your chemistry, it took longer than I would have imagined--”

“It’s not Thomas.” 

Minho stopped short, like Newt had electrocuted him.

“What…do you mean?”

Newt took a breath and put his head in his hand, rubbing his temples. “It’s Alby. I’m going on a date with Alby.” 

The only sign of confusion Minho showed was his blink. “Oh. But…but what about Thomas then?” 

“What about him?” Newt bounced the question back to Minho. 

Minho paused. “I thought you guys were together.”

Newt whirled around, nostrils flaring delicately. “Well then you thought wrong.” 

_That came out harsher than I intended._

Minho raised his hands, palms up in surrender. “Hey, Alby or Thomas, I’m just glad you’re happy.” 

_I hope it’s not too obvious that I’m anything but._

Newt swallowed the guilt of snapping at Minho. “Thanks Min,” he said, turning back to the mirror. “Means a lot.” 

Minho smiled and came up behind Newt, clapping his hands onto Newt’s shoulders. They both eyed Newt’s reflection, and after a while, Minho spoke up.

“I meant it, you know. I’m glad you’re happy. Doesn’t matter if you’re with both Alby _and_ Thomas.”

Newt laughed in disbelief and playfully punched Minho in the stomach.

* * *

Newt’s heartbeat sped up as he saw Alby seated atop his motorcycle outside the dorm buildings, clad in his usually sexy yet subtle black. He had traded his sports shoes in for dressier boots. Newt would never be able to pull off such a grungy look, but he had to admit that Alby looked exceptionally attractive.

When Alby noticed Newt walking towards him, his face broke out into a broad, dazzling smile.

_And now I’m reminded of why I had such an immense crush on him._

Repressing his nerves, he walked over to Alby with a smile on his face. 

“Hey, stranger,” Alby greeted, standing up to give Newt a quick hug.

_Cologne. Lots of it. This must be a date._

Newt smiled wider as he pulled away. “You’re looking great.”

Alby’s smile mirrored Newt’s. “Speak for yourself. You look better each time I see you.” 

Newt laughed shyly and shrugged. “You’re too kind.” 

Alby just laughed and mounted the bike, patting the seat behind him. “Jump on.” 

Newt’s eyes widened and he didn’t know why he hadn’t realized that they would be travelling by motorcycle when he first saw Alby perched on it. 

_Stop being a scaredy cat. It’ll take your mind off Thomas._

With that, he mounted the bike just as Alby had, and fastened the helmet Alby had handed him. The motorcycle revved and his heart attempted to leap out of his throat.

Out of reflex and nerves, he wound his arms around Alby’s waist, silently praying that his first this motorcycle ride wouldn’t kill him. He _had_ ridden with Alby before, once (and dreamed about it so much longer after), but the anxiety hadn’t subsided since.

“Don’t let me fall off,” he mumbled. His heart wasn’t beating as fast as he expected, even though he was practically separated from touching Alby’s abs by a thin shirt.

Alby’s laugh reverberated in his chest. “Hold on tight then.” 

With the sound of gravel crunching, Alby kicked off, Newt snugly situated behind him.

Minho watched from the window.

* * *

Alby had refused to tell Newt where they were heading every time he asked. Hence, all he could do was cling onto Alby’s waist, anxiously anticipating. 

His mind was wondering about what Thomas would make of him on Alby’s motorcycle when they screeched to a halt.

“We’re here.” They had stopped in a secluded alleyway. Not a dingy, dark one like one would think of when ‘alleyway’ was mentioned, but a quiet, wide one with charming boutiques and small restaurants lining both the sides. Fairy lights were strung across the top floors of the restaurants, draping across the alleyway and illuminating the evening like stars. 

Newt had never been here. Thanks to his need for familiarity, he nearly never went exploring, and had never had the pleasure of discovering small gems like this place. 

Alby parked the motorcycle aside and led Newt to the middle of the alleyway, then entered a restaurant on the left side.

Newt’s breath was absolutely snatched away when he went in.

The restaurant was decorated like a garden. The walls were decorated with beautiful strands of creeping ivy, and plants and flora covered almost every inch of available space. Small flowers were encased in the glass of the lights, peppering the area with different spots of diffused, colourful lights. The tables were also adorned with succulents and small potted plants. Larger potted trees stood in the corners, their leaves waving in the gentle breeze that floated through the window. 

_Thomas would love to draw this place._

Newt kicked himself for thinking about Thomas at a time like this, and violently shoved the thought to the back of his mind.

“It’s beautiful,” he told Alby breathlessly, a genuine smile stretching ear to ear. 

Alby grinned at him, relieved. “I found this place by accident, and I knew I had to take you here.”   
Newt’s heart warmed at the notion of Alby thinking about it. “That’s really sweet. Thank you, truly.” 

Alby led them to a concealed alcove deeper into the restaurant, and then they were seated. He had done all the ordering (the most tender of rosemary chicken and zucchini sprinkled with lemon zest and mild pepper flakes), and Newt had decided to let himself loose tonight by agreeing to order a bottle of Sauvignon blanc – which tasted absolutely divine.

He was on his third glass when the delightful, pleasant buzz started to set in. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time – and he really focused on catching up with Alby, not pining for Thomas for once. 

It was…refreshing.

Now that Alby no longer donned an angelic halo in Newt’s mind, he found him definitely easier to talk to. He very obviously flirted with Newt all throughout dinner, and Newt had let himself flirt back. He only caught himself wishing once that he was with Thomas instead. 

They had downed one bottle of Sauvignon blanc and was finishing one bottle of rose by the time dessert arrived. 

“One crème brulee for you sir, and a chocolate mousse for the other sir,” the waiter smiled warmly before setting down the plates.

“Thank you very much…” Alby trailed to look at the name tag.

“Winston,” the waiter intercepted. 

“Thank you, Winston,” Newt smiled sunnily, which was something he would never have done to a stranger when sober.

Apparently, he did give off the impression that he was drunk, because Winston grinned. “Take care of him,” he mouthed to Alby before clearing the main course plate and bustling back to the kitchen.

Alby responded by nodding and grinning even wider. 

“Our desserts match us,” Newt blurted out, giggling slightly under the influence of the alcohol.

Indeed they did – the pale cream of the crème brulee matched Newt’s skin, as the rich brown did the same for Alby.

Alby laughed, a bit in disbelief. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” He eyed Newt with admiration, finding the golden boy more adorable than ever. 

Newt’s brows knitted together and he shook his head, spooning more of the sweet delicacy into his mouth. “No. I just like you,” he said bravely, disregarding how much of the statement was true. He peered up and Alby through his eyelashes, with the spoon still in his mouth.

And shoved the nagging voice at the back of his mind aside.

_Not tonight. I will be happy tonight._

Alby’s eyes twinkled. “What a coincidence. I like you too.” 

Newt _winked_ at Alby – the first time he’d ever winked at anyone – and finished his crème brulee.

The liquid courage made him feel braver than ever. He leaned closer to Alby on his forearms and opened his mouth, eyes looking down at the mousse.

Alby’s eyebrows raised and he smiled, complying with Newt’s request as he spooned a generous helping of the chocolatey treat into Newt’s eyes. 

Newt shut his eyes and savoured the taste. “Mmm,” he hummed in bliss. “That tastes nice.”

Alby swallowed and his eyes slid down to Newt’s lips. 

Newt’s tongue darted out to catch any excess chocolate. “Did I miss any?”

Alby shook his head and exhaled, the smile never once leaving his face. He straightened up, breaking the moment. “The bill’s on me.”

Newt didn’t even bother fighting for it. “Thank you. Tonight was lovely.” Newt gulped down the rest of his champagne, his head fizzing pleasantly. He wouldn’t think about Thomas. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed,” Alby answered humbly. They stood, and Newt turned towards the door.

A hand flew out to catch his, and he was spun around to face Alby.

Bewildered, he gazed at the older boy. Before he could formulate a question, Alby spoke.

“Actually, you missed a bit,” he whispered thickly. “Let me get it for you.”

Then he pressed his lips to Newt’s.

* * *

Alby had tasted like chocolate and champagne with an undertone of smoke. Newt had kissed back gently, gripping the olive-skinned boy’s shirt. Despite the fact that the kiss awakened a deeper longing for another hazel-eyed boy, Newt had more or less enjoyed it. 

He decided to go with it. When Alby took him back to the dorm, the effects of the alcohol were settling in, making him feel sleepy and hazy. He leaned against Alby’s solid back, glad for the comfort and the distraction he offered.

Alby had gone with Newt all the way up to his dorm room. Newt was unsure what to do: invite him in? Or tell him goodnight? He found himself hoping that Minho was inside so that he wouldn’t have to make a decision. 

“This is me,” Newt said as they halted to a stop in front of his and Minho’s room.

Alby pulled Newt closer, enveloping him into a passionate kiss again. 

_The chocolate is starting to taste sickly sweet._

After he drew away, Newt smiled politely. “You’re really amazing, Alby. Thank you so much for tonight.” 

Alby patted Newt on the shoulder, and even though he reflected Newt’s smile, Newt knew he was waiting for an invitation.

But Newt knew where to draw the line. He couldn’t use Alby to take his mind of Thomas. It would be unfair to the sweet boy.

“So…did I impress you enough for there to be a second date?” Alby asked, uncharacteristically bashful.

Newt laughed. “We’ll see,” he said vaguely. _I just need more time to get over Thomas._

Alby beamed. “That’s better than a no.”

Newt opened the door, signalling that their night together was over. “Goodnight, Alby.”

“’Night, Newt.” With a brief kiss on the cheek, Alby walked down the dim hallway.

* * *

Minho was lounging on his bed when Newt returned.

“I take it your date went well,” he said. Newt could hear the smile in his voice.

It did go well…but Newt was feeling exceptionally shitty in light of that good date. He still felt hollow inside, and it had seemingly exacerbated his longing for Thomas. 

“Mmm,” he muttered, collapsing onto his bed. The bed where Thomas had hugged him to sleep.

“What happened?” Minho asked.

“He kissed me.” 

“Ayyy, that’s my boy!” Minho cheered, making Newt laugh and cringe at the same time.

“Min, stop,” he laughed, sitting up. “It’s too late for this. I’m exhausted, I have to sleep.”

Minho completely ignored him. “Shit, did I cockblock you? I didn’t mean to. You could’ve shot me a text in advance, you know, to get me to clear out.”

Newt shot him daggers in the dark. “I’ll have you know, I’ll do no such—shit!” The watch he was taking off slipped from his fingers and thudded onto the floor. “Look what you’ve done.”

“Look what _I’ve_ done? Don’t blame me for having butterfingers!” 

Newt rolled his eyes and extended his hand onto the floor, patting it to see where the watch was. Eventually, he had to kneel on the floor to look under his bed.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he finally found the watch…and also something else.

Thomas’ sketchbook.

He flipped it open, bursting with curiosity about what would be inside. The first few pages were intricate and lively sketches of mostly plants, no doubt for his portfolio. Sketches of tattoos were also littered throughout the book. 

As he flipped further, his breath stopped.

_That’s me._

There was sketch after sketch of him drawn onto the pages of Thomas’ sketchbook. 

Him sleeping.

Him at the Glade, his face stern with concentration, pored over the plants. 

Him laughing.

Him sitting on his bathroom counter, wearing an expression of tired intensity.

The last one was the one that took his breath away.

It was a sketch of them both – Thomas and Newt – entwined in the sheets, Newt in Thomas’ arms, both sleeping soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think xx


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alby and Newt decide whether to take things further, and Newt makes further discoveries about Thomas.

Newt gasped as he finally remembered to breathe. 

_Shit._

He hurriedly snapped the sketchbook shut, not knowing how to react.

Minho was humming in the background, completely oblivious to what Newt had just found under his bed. And what his discovery meant. 

His breathing was ragged as thoughts flew through his head.

_All this time, he’s been drawing me. When I thought he had been keeping me company and practicing drawing plants, he had been drawing me._

His fingers trembled as he traced the cover of the sketchbook. Half of him was itching to open the sketchbook to find out what more there was – but another half screamed at him to keep it shut, to not invade Thomas’ privacy. 

So he sat on the floor, staring into space, conflicted and confused, heart hammering at 300 beats per minute.

“Minho,” he asked quietly, his back towards Minho. 

“Sup?”

“If…purely theoretically, of course…if someone had a book full of drawings of you…what would it mean?” 

The humming stopped, and a silence took its place. Then, “It would mean that that _someone_ …is into me.” 

Newt’s head dropped between his knees. _If I had found that book just one day earlier…_

“Okay,” he breathed. 

“What’s wrong?” Minho’s voice was cautious.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Newt retorted, aware that his reply was too quick and too definite to be real. He crossed his fingers that Minho wouldn’t be pushy.

And he didn’t. Minho was a real champ. 

“Do you think Thomas likes me?” he blurted out after a while.

_Real discreet, Newt._

He didn’t dare turn around to face Minho.  
“I do, you know,” Minho answered quietly. “I saw you two the morning you were sleeping together. I came back to get my laptop, but neither of you woke. He was cuddling you, and you were both asleep. You two looked like…like you belonged together.”

Newt’s throat constricted. “You could have told me earlier.”

“I didn’t want to be intrusive. That’s why I thought you were with Thomas, and not Alby. I didn’t know…I didn’t know you guys weren’t…” he trailed off. 

“You’ve had no problem being intrusive in the past,” Newt pointed out shrewdly to change the subject. 

Minho laughed once. “Fair enough.”

Just like that, the conversation was over. 

Newt stuffed the sketchbook under his pillow and settled onto the bed. Mulling over what Minho said, he pulled out his phone to text Thomas. 

_Your sketchbook was underneath my bed._

The reply came seconds later.

_I don’t need it anymore._

Newt frowned in confusion. That’s weird. Just earlier that day, Thomas had said it was his favourite. 

_Should I hold on to it?_ He texted back, heedful of any signs that indicated Thomas wasn’t in a good mood. 

_Whatever you want._

That was one sign. Thomas never adopted this brush-offy mood with him. His thumbs hovered above the keyboard, not knowing how to respond. 

_Goodnight, Tommy._ He finally typed.

Before Thomas could reply, he shut his phone off and forced himself to go to sleep. 

When he woke up and checked his phone the next morning, there were no new texts from Thomas.

* * *

Newt spent most of his day in the Glade, too astonished and perplexed at the new revelation to actually do anything productive. Which wasn’t too bad, since midterms were already over. 

Planning to play it casual, he texted Thomas and asked him whether he wanted to join him. Thomas’ decline was vague and not at all like himself. 

He tried to read a book, but all his mind wanted to do was think about Thomas. He tried texting him again…and even though Thomas used wording that he normally did, it was still clear that something was off. 

Newt racked his brains for anything that he had done to upset Thomas…and came up blank. 

He was basking in Kodaline and the warm setting sun streaming through the glass panel windows when he heard a knock on the door.

Not Thomas, then. He never announced himself. 

He turned around to see Alby carrying a Krispy Kreme box and wearing a huge smile.

He smiled, heart warming up fractionally, but couldn’t bring himself to feel the way he did last night. Not after he had seen Thomas’ sketchbook.

“You knew where to find me.”

“Where else would you be?” Alby said, taking a seat next to Newt on the bench he was sitting on.

Newt shifted over a bit to make space. 

“And it looks like…I picked the most romantic time of the day.” Alby smirked. Newt smiled again, but couldn’t make himself flirt.

“Are those donuts?” He asked, desperate to change the subject. 

“Yeah. I got them for you.” 

There was a sharp twinge in Newt’s heart. The guilt of still being head over heels for Thomas while Alby so sweetly did so much for him was getting suffocating.

“Thank you…you really didn’t have to.” He obligatorily reached into the box, and took a bite out of the glazed donut even though his appetite was nowhere to be seen. 

To be fair, the donut was extremely good. He took another mouthful, and soon found himself finishing the whole thing. 

The two sat in a pregnant silence, both eating a donut and watching the sunset.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Newt said. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

Newt didn’t look at Alby even though he felt his eyes on him. He put the last of his second donut into his mouth and brushed his hands. 

Alby cleared his throat.

_Oh no._

“Newt…” Alby put a hand on Newt’s thigh, getting his attention.

Newt had no choice but to turn to the other boy. “Yes?” 

Alby exhaled. “It’s my last year here, and I really don’t want to have any regrets.”

_This is beginning to sound a lot like something I don’t want to hear._

Newt’s tongue was dead as he tried to come up with an answer, but Alby took the silence as a cue to keep speaking. 

“I like you,” he said straightforwardly. “I’ve liked you for a while now.”

_Oh, fate has a cruel sense of humour._

Newt’s heart was beginning to beat fast, but not for the reason he thought it would.

_How do I tell him I like Thomas?_

Newt met Alby’s eyes, and didn’t try to speak since it was clear he still wasn’t finished. 

“And…and if it isn’t too much to ask,” Alby gingerly, carefully took Newt’s hand in his. When Newt didn’t flinch back (because he knew how bad that felt, thanks Tommy), he continued, “I’d really love if you would go out with me.” 

His thumb traced circles on the back of Newt’s hand.

Year 1 Newt would have died and screamed ‘yes’.

Year 2 Newt…not so much. His breathing was shallow as his eyes shuttered. 

_How to do this…_

“I like you too.”

_What the fuck, Newt! No! Don’t lead him in the wrong direction!_

“I-I mean…as a friend.”

Alby’s face fell.

_Holy hell, you’re the worst at this. You kissed him back, you idiot._

“No! As more than a friend, of course – oh my god,” Newt exhaled in defeat, laughing shakily. “I’m sorry. I’m really nervous.”

Alby laughed softly. “It’s alright. We’ve got time.” He squeezed Newt’s hand encouragingly.

_Well, here goes nothing._

“I used to like you, Alby. I used to have a _massive_ crush on you last year.”

Alby’s coy smile indicated that he had known.

“You’re an amazing guy, and last night was really lovely. If…if this had happened last year, I would gladly say yes. I’d gladly go out with you, without any reservations.” Newt held Alby’s gaze steadily.

“There’s always a but,” Alby said, smiling sadly.

“Yes. There’s…I’m confused. About how I feel. For someone else. I’m – definitely attracted to you, yes, but – I feel something for someone else too, then…in no way would me getting together with you be fair to you.” 

Alby nodded, as if he had expected it. “I know Thomas is in the picture now. And – I hate myself for not making a move sooner. But I don’t want you to rush. Your choice should be yours. And I can wait for you to make that choice.”

Newt’s heart swelled gratefully at the kind understanding. “What if…what if the choice I make…is not the choice you want to hear?” 

Alby looked down at their intertwined hands. “I’ll still respect it. If he makes you happy.”

Newt reached over to envelope Alby in a hug, heart aching at the answer he already had.

If he had to choose, it would always be Thomas. He would gladly choose Thomas each and every time. And Lord knows, he would follow Thomas wherever he went.

* * *

He lay awake in bed that night, thinking about how to tell Thomas how he felt. 

Every time he thought about Thomas reciprocating his feelings, butterflies filled his stomach. His heart was so devastatingly _full_ \-- of love, and more importantly, of hope that they might actually work out. 

He felt the sketchbook’s presence thrumming out from under his pillow. He despairingly wanted to reach under it and flip through the book to soak in Thomas’ secrets, to discover how he appeared in the brunette’s eyes…but something about it felt too personal.

After idly tossing and turning for 5 more minutes, he gave in to the desire – and pulled the book out from under the pillow.

His heart began to thump wildly as he reached the page where his face first appeared.

It was when he fell asleep the first time they had hung out.

_But he didn’t have his sketchbook with him. He came just after a run._

The brief and rough lines made it seem like Thomas had conjured the drawing up from memory.

_Unless…_

He scrambled up from the bed and leaped to his shelf, fingers furiously searching for –

_Found it._

With shaking hands, he pulled out the drawing of his room that Thomas had left his number on two months ago…and flipped it over.

His heart stopped beating. It was a sketch of him sleeping. 

He had to bite his lip to stop any sound from emerging from between them. He studied the drawing with tender eyes and scolded himself for not realizing earlier. 

Crawling back onto his bed with a racing heart, he turned the page. It was a sketch of him laughing: eyes creased into half-moons, mouth open, nose crinkled up slightly.

_He makes me look so…happy. When was this?_

He shut his eyes, trying to recall. _Teresa’s party. He drew me from memory again._

He flipped the page. There he was, a completely different person, wearing an expression of focus. 

Thomas had captured the way his lip was caught between his bottom teeth. His cheeks warmed at the thought of being under such scrutiny, and he shivered thinking about the intimacy this level of attention entailed. It was hard to believe that he hadn’t once noticed that Thomas was drawing him.

He flipped the page. This was when he was sick. His face looked gaunt and sunken, dark smudges under his eyes…but they burned with intensity. He was shirtless and Thomas had definitely made him look more sculpted than he really was.

_I can’t pose like that. He makes me look like a model._

He turned the page. Him sleeping again.

More of him sleeping.

The one of both of them sleeping together, from an aerial view. He couldn’t make himself to tear his eyes away from it. 

When he finally turned the page, his breath was taken away again – this one was a watercolour. His blonde hair was painted literally golden, and a flower crown was woven into the tresses. His ears were slightly pointed, and his eyes were closed.

_He drew me as a Goddamn elf._

After the drawings of him ended, Newt came across a page labelled ‘For Him.’ His eyes flew shut.

_Should I continue looking at this?_

He debated for a total of three seconds. _Oh, fuck it, I’m this far in anyways._

He opened his eyes. The only drawing on the page was a sideways hand, fingers gracefully extended – Newt assumed this was his hand – and on the side of the ring finger, a tiny bluebell was drawn onto it.

_He drew me a tattoo._

Eagerly, he looked at the following pages – to find them blank. When he ran his fingers down the blank page, he could feel irregular ridges – just barely, but he could feel them. 

_He must have drawn something and rubbed it out._

Newt’s heart constricted at the carefulness Thomas adopted when it came to him.

He flipped until he found something else: a page labelled ‘Me’. 

Unlike the page ‘For Him’, this page was stuffed full of little sketches. Half-finished tattoo ideas, from paper airplanes to celestial planets to Celtic-looking tridents. He gazed at each and every one of them in awe. 

There were three pages full of doodles…and he came across a page nearly identical to the one labelled ‘For Him’. It was the same hand, but rougher and callused, with a matching bluebell on the ring finger. 

Newt held his breath. Even the sound of his heartbeat seemed intrusive in the light of discovering that Thomas had designed matching tattoos for them. 

Then he came across one page with a drawing of Thomas’ own chest, covered in the familiar tattoos he already had. Looking closer, he realised there were a few additions – a small, minimalistic pattern sat right where his heart was.

He couldn’t make out what it was at first sight – it had only a few sweeping lines and letters, and it was small. Was it an animal?

Then it hit him. 

_It’s a newt._

His heart surged up into his throat. 

_It’s me._

And under the simple, almost unidentifiable newt drawing… N.I.

_My initials._

Tears filled Newt’s eyes and he swallowed, blindly flipping to the next page. 

It was a drawing of Thomas’ back, with the tattoos he already had – and one new addition.

Under ‘My Glory is Fleeting’, in the same position and the same Roman, archaic font…

‘My Love is Lasting’. 

Newt inhaled shakily and rubbed his eyes. 

_He loves me._

The realization began to seep in and his heart swelled in relief. _After all this time…_ He was half crying and half laughing with the newfound joy and hope. 

He had to get to Thomas, now. 

Glancing at the clock, he didn’t care that it was 1 in the morning. He grabbed his phone and the sketchbook, and with legs that were too slow to keep up with his excited mind, he started to make his way to Thomas’ apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment below: is this 'slow burn' enough for you? Do you guys want the angst and the pining to go on longer, or do you want me to get on with getting them together? ;) xx


	15. Chapter 15

All he could feel and think about was Thomas. His legs were doing all the walking and it was fortunate that he had the direction to Thomas’ place drilled into his head – or else he definitely would have gotten lost. 

Newt was feeling too many things at once. Excitement, hope, love, anticipation, anxiety – all demanding to be felt.

Newt’s mouth was dry as he tried to come up with what to say to Thomas when he first arrived. Would ‘I love you too’ be too brash? 

He was walking as fast as his limp would allow, barely registering the pain that was starting to trickle along his leg. He just wanted to get to Thomas. He wanted to kiss him, and to hold him, to tell him that he _loved_ him.

And to hear the requital from Thomas’ lips. 

Breathing hard because of adrenalin, slight over-exertion and nerves, Newt finally reached the familiar blue door that contained so many precious moments shared with Thomas. 

He thought of knocking – but what if Thomas was asleep?

He tried the handle…and surprisingly, it gave out. 

Newt didn’t even have the mind to think about how strange it was that the door was unlocked. 

He opened the door, keeping his footsteps cautious and muffled. The only sound was his heart thundering against his rib cage. He was half sure that Thomas would wake up to the sound of it.

He ventured into the dark hallway, trying to steady his breathing. There was a dim light source from the living room, and he walked towards it. A flash of movement caught his eye and he ducked back behind the corner of the hallway, deathly still. 

“Mhmm.” A girlish giggle sounded from the living room.

Newt stiffened. What the…? He peeked over the edge – 

Brenda.

Brenda and Thomas both sat on the sofa, tangled up in each other, making out intensely. 

_Oh._

Newt’s heart plunged to the pit of his stomach. All traces of anything related to happiness vanished in a second. He tried to move, tried to get away – but his feet were rooted to the spot in shock. 

They were so preoccupied that they hadn’t heard him come in.

_Okay. So it was a mistake._

Newt yanked himself back down the hallway as quickly as he could, walking towards the door with hurried footsteps. He shut the door behind him silently. 

_Okay, he doesn’t love me after all. Never mind. That’s fine._

He walked down the stairs, in a daze, trying to let what just happened sink in. 

His heart and lungs had seemingly stopped functioning, but his legs hadn’t. They dutifully carried him all the way back to his dorm.

_It doesn’t matter. It was a silly thought anyways._

He was so dazed, and so deeply jarred by the hurt, that he hadn’t noticed that it had started raining halfway back.

His hands noticed, though.

And they kept the sketchbook tucked under Newt’s shirt, close to his heart, desperate to shield it from the rain.

* * *

It was 1:30a.m. when he got back. Still in shock, it didn’t occur to him to try to be quiet. He unlocked the dorm door, letting it hit the wall when it opened. Minho jolted awake at the sound.

“What the heck?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He jumped as soon as he saw Newt dripping wet in the doorway.

“Newt, what happened?” he whispered urgently, sliding off the bed and flinging a towel over him.

Newt’s face remained expressionless. 

“Newt,” Minho said again, shaking his shoulders. 

He gave no response.

“Please, you’re scaring me.”

Newt turned to look at Minho. His fingers unfurled their tight grip on the sketchbook, and he thrust it towards the Asian boy – an invitation to look.

Minho took it hastily and opened it. Realization dawned on his face as he drank in the drawings of Newt – the drawing of them both – and the tattoos. 

Newt swallowed. “I went over there to tell him that I love him.” His voice was low. “When I got there…he was snogging Brenda.”

Minho’s face morphed into pain and he pulled Newt into a hug. “Oh, Newt…” 

The physical contact pulled Newt out from his daze. As Minho held him in his tight embrace, his lungs started burning with anger.

“How,” he whispered, balling his hands into fists. “Could I have been so wrong?” 

“That’s what I want to know,” Minho said fiercely, hugging Newt even tighter. “He’s a bloody fuckwit.” 

“He did all of…he slept with me,” Newt choked out furiously. “He drew me. He took care of me when I was sick.” His eyes burned with angry tears. “Did that all mean _nothing_?”

As they pulled away, Minho practically fell apart at the sheer devastation in his friend’s voice.

“And then he has the _audacity_ to want to tattoo _me_ over his heart, when he’s fucking _someone else?_ ” His anger ascended into rage in the blink of an eye. He laughed once, bitter and completely without humour. 

Minho didn’t know what else to do but to sit there, at an utter loss of words. “Do you…want me to talk to him…?”

“No,” Newt snarled, his temper flaring up into something that Minho had never seen. “If he wants to lead me on while fucking Brenda, by all means. Let’s all pretend to love Newt and toss his fragile little heart away after he falls in love!” 

He hurled a pillow across the room in frustration and fury. 

It wasn’t enough. He needed _more_ , he needed to _break_ \-- 

He strode across the room to the bookshelf, hunting for that drawing –

As his fingers landed upon it, he yanked it out, and viciously tore it to shreds. 

“Newt, don’t --”

“No, Minho, you don’t!” he roared, slamming his fist onto the desk, making everything rattle. “You should have warned me! If I was the one who was blind, _you_ of all people should have seen it coming!” 

A small voice at the back of his head told him that Minho was completely not to blame, that he shouldn’t bring him into this – but the flames erupting in his temper were drowning the voice out. 

Minho remained silent, bearing all of Newt’s accusations. Newt swallowed, barely able to keep his voice down. “You told me that you thought Thomas liked me.” He was shaking with the effort.

“That we belonged. Together.” His voice cracked on the last word, and with that, all the anger leaked out from him, as if all his energy was spent. 

He sank down onto the floor, head in his hands. “I’m sorry.” 

Minho exhaled. “I’m sorry too. I really did think so.” Minho’s tone was sincerer than Newt had ever heard it, and he knew that he was telling the truth. 

A dull ache started seeping into Newt’s head as well as his leg. After a minute of silence, he looked up at Minho with beseeching eyes. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“What about…”

“Alby?” Newt gave a pathetic attempt at a laugh. “The reason I went out with him was to get my mind off Thomas.”

“So you don’t like him?”

Newt threw his hands in the air. “I don’t bloody well know anymore, Minho.” 

Minho sighed and grabbed Newt’s arms, hauling him up. “You have to shower first. I don’t want you to get sick.” 

So that was what Newt did – which was all that he could do. He stood under the scalding hot water for half an hour until his fingers turned pruny, wishing that he could drown himself.

* * *

Newt had always tried to come across as resilient to everyone else, even from a young age. When he was a child, if he fell and scraped his knee, he sucked it up and never cried – he just stood back up. Because there was always Sonya to protect. He told himself to be strong _for her_. 

Whenever his parents argued and raised their voices to the point where they were audible even through closed doors, he never cried – he took it upon himself to do something else to distract himself and his sister. Because there was always Sonya to shield. He had to put her first. 

But when Sonya died, he had completely lost it. The sole reason for him being strong had vanished – and he didn’t want to live anymore. Thus, he had jumped.

And fate, with its wretched way of twisting destiny, had rendered his attempt ineffective. Yet, it had instilled the ever-present limp in his leg: a painful and shameful reminder of the mistakes he made. A reminder of the consequence of not being strong.

It took him a while to pick his ass back up and start being strong again, but after meeting Minho, he had slowly found his lost touch. And after meeting…Thomas, he felt like he had a reason to be strong again. To not live in fear. More importantly, a reason to heal and be happy.

Newt told himself that this time would be no different. It didn’t matter if Thomas didn’t love him. It didn’t matter that he had been mistaken. For Minho’s sake, for his parents’ sake, and for Alby’s sake, he had to be strong. And undoubtedly for Sonya, even if she wasn’t physically here anymore. 

So, he had forced himself stomach the anger and the almost unbearable hurt, and put on a brave face after so turbulently losing his temper the previous night. 

No matter how tight his lungs got or how much his heart ached when he even so much as _thought_ about Thomas, or _heard_ someone mentioning his name – he told himself that he would pull through. Especially for Sonya, who would be watching. 

Newt wasted no time moping about. Some might say he was in denial, but in reality, he just wanted to forget that anything ever happened, to erase all pieces of evidence of that night. He thrusted all related memories as well as any trace of his love for Thomas way, way back into his mind and locked it there, securing all of it with a key of steely refusal to acknowledge anything related. 

Inside, his mind might be a mess, but outside, he was just…fine.

He sure as hell wasn’t going to text Thomas, though. There was no reason to bring that upon himself. He chose to text Alby instead, unsure of what to say.

His thumbs lingered, and eventually typed, _What time are your classes today?_

For the rest of the lecture, he coerced himself to take in the information that Janson was droning about, and because of his abnormal focus, he found himself especially tired after the lecture. 

Which was a good thing. He didn’t even have the time to think about Thomas, or to check Alby’s reply. 

_You > classes. Just tell me when you want to hang._

Newt smiled at the simple words, glad that Alby was there for him…and for the first time, he felt wanted, prioritized. That made him take Alby up on his offer, and they ended up spending more time together than they ever had.

* * *

They followed the same routine for about a week or so, and Newt had realized, where there was Alby, there could never be Thomas.

Whenever Newt was with Alby, he never ever texted Thomas, or allowed himself to think about him. Magically, the wound had started to heal – albeit very very slowly, and Newt still felt painfully hollow whenever he was alone – but the snail’s pace progress was better than nothing.

Thomas had occasionally sent him texts, seemingly unsuspecting of the emotional roller coaster that he had put Newt on. 

_Haven’t seen you for days._

_Are you that busy?_

_Hmu if you want company in the glade._

Newt met each and every one with neutral grace and courtesy, trying and succeeding in not being cynical or bitter.

_That’s because you’re always at work._

_You’re the one who’s busy, Tommy._

_Wouldn’t want to bore you though._

It was almost as if they had rewound the clock and returned to when they were both best friends who flirted, but not to the point that the confusion hurt. 

Except they never said anything face-to-face. All the talk was empty – the plans to hang out never materialized.

Newt was grateful for that. He wasn’t sure he would be able to face Thomas knowing that the brunette _had_ felt something for himself at some point, yet went behind his back to snog Brenda.

He supposed he wasn’t any better; he was always with Alby. But in his defence, it wouldn’t have come to this had Thomas not toyed around with his feelings by sending mixed signals (i.e. shrinking away from his touch, then sleeping with him; drawing them matching tattoos, then fucking Brenda).

Hence, they stayed apart for a week, and never once talked to each other about Alby or Brenda. The tension was smothering, and both of them still danced to avoid any related topics like their lives depended on it.

* * *

“You’ve never told me what your favourite flower is.”

Newt looked over at Alby, surprised at the sudden question.

_Bluebells._

He opened his mouth to answer, but Thomas’ painting flashed across his mind. After that came the flashback of the events that happened the night Thomas showed him the painting. 

_No. They’re too associated with him._

He scanned the Glade, looking for a quick answer. 

“Lilies,” he lied. “Love them.” 

“Well, now I know what kind of flowers to get you next time.”

Newt smiled absently, the guilt prodding at his heart again. 

“You’ve been kinda quiet lately,” Alby said softly, resting a hand on Newt’s arm. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. I’d tell you if it wasn’t.” 

_Another lie._

Alby seemed content to believe it though. He wrapped an arm around Newt, soothingly rubbing up and down, and Newt loosed a breath, trying his damned best not to wish it was Thomas there with him instead. 

He warily reprimanded his heart for still wanting such a thing after he’d been so profusely hurt.

_Traitorous heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I had to. IT GETS BETTER.


	16. Chapter 16

Newt lay awake on his bed that night, sleep refusing to claim him. Minho could tell that he was more restless than usual, because instead of dozing off to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow, he tried to talk to Newt.

“How you holding up?”

“I’m fine.” The reply, even though it was a lie, came as naturally as breathing.

Minho sighed. “Talk to him. This tension between --”

“I do talk to him.” 

_Stubborn,_ his mind’s voice scolded.

“You know what I mean,” Minho said. “Don’t be technical.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. He made himself very clear.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Minho muttered.

Newt’s head snapped to look at Minho so fast it cricked. “What do you mean?”

Minho remained silent.

“Minho,” Newt said, his voice low. A warning.

Minho still remained silent. 

“Did he say anything to you?” 

Minho hesitated. “He’s been asking me if you’re okay.” 

Newt’s heart seized, but he pushed the feeling away. “He probably just doesn’t want to talk to me. And even if it’s not the case, that would be worse, because that would mean he can’t make up his fucking mind,” he finalized. 

Minho huffed in defeat. “You’re so damn stubborn.”

Newt’s temper reared its head. “Don’t,” he growled.

 _Well, there’s no chance I’m sleeping after this._

He flung his legs off the bed and shrugged on a hoodie. 

“I’m going for a walk,” he announced, then walked out the door.

“Be careful!” Minho yelled after him, guilty that he worsened the situation.

Newt didn’t reply as he shut the door.

* * *

His legs carried him to the Glade, his sanctuary. The night wind bit into his skin.

 _Since when has it been this chilly?_

He hurried inside the Glade, greeted by the familiar fragrance of plants and the welcoming warmth. He shut the door, glad to be at peace and alone –

Except he wasn’t. A silhouette sat on the floor, facing the biggest glass window, looking at the sliver of silver moon hanging in the darkness outside. 

Newt knew that silhouette. His heart started beating fast.

_Thomas._

There was a soft crooning…he was singing. Barely audibly, but Newt was listening intently, hands trembling at his sides. 

“ _You make my heart feel like it’s summer, when the rain is pouring down…”_

Newt’s whole body started shaking. 

_He’s singing Kodaline. He’s singing our song._

His voice was beautiful but laced with melancholy, and the pure _sadness_ of the tune made Newt’s heart cleave open. 

_“You make my whole world feel so right, when it’s wrong...that’s how I know you are the one…”_ His voice broke. 

He was contemplating on how to approach Thomas when suddenly, Thomas set something down on the floor beside him. A bottle.

_Vodka._

Newt’s blood ran cold. 

_He doesn’t drink. Why is he drinking?_

The bottle was already half-empty. 

Without his consent, his legs began walking towards Thomas, barely able to breathe. He crouched down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Tommy.” The urgency in his voice revealed his anxiety. 

Thomas turned sharply, his eyes still clear. Shock was written in them. 

_Good. He’s not completely lost._

“Newt.”

They stared at each other, both breathing hard, not knowing what to say.

Newt broke the silence first by reaching over and taking the vodka bottle. “Why are you drinking?” 

It might have been just Newt’s imagination, but Thomas’ lower lip trembled. The sign of weakness was gone in a blink of an eye and his eyes clouded over. “Why do you care?” 

Newt felt like he had been slapped across the face. The icy rage rekindled itself in his heart. 

“Why do I _care_?” he asked with acidity in his tone. He wrenched Thomas’ shoulder backwards and made him look him directly in the eye. 

“Believe me, even if I wanted to stop caring, I wouldn’t be able to.” He kept his tone stony to mask the sweltering array of emotions threatening to spill out of his mouth. 

Thomas’s nostrils flared – a sign of his anger rising. “ _Really_ , now?” He scrambled up, towering over Newt. 

Newt stood up, refusing to be looked down on, edging closer and closer to losing his temper. How _dare_ Thomas question him like that – 

“Well, you haven’t done a very good job of caring lately,” Thomas snarled, the venom heavy in his blame.

“That’s bloody rich, coming from you!” Newt snapped, too angry to register the hurt pounding through his head. 

“You have no right!” Thomas shouted, fury rolling off of him in waves. “You have no right, Newt! You’re just--” He broke off, breathing heavily, his face twisted in anger and pain. 

Newt was beyond aggravated, and gods above, he had _never, ever_ felt so _angry_ before. He stepped closer to Thomas so they were standing nose to nose, and gave him a shove. 

“I’m what? I’m just what?” he challenged, eyes wild with wrath. “Come on, say it. Say it!” 

“You’re heartless,” Thomas spat. “You say you care, but you really don’t.” 

Newt laughed humourlessly in disbelief. “ _I’m_ heartless? What sort of twisted reality _do_ you live in exactly, Thomas? Enlighten me, please.” 

Thomas was fuming at this point. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” 

“The only heartless person here is you!” Newt accused with biting hostility. “Do you have any idea how I felt when you fucking _flinched_ away from my touch?” 

Thomas’ eyes reeled. “I only did that because you were getting together with Alby, and I didn’t want to be _the other guy_!” 

Newt couldn’t believe his ears. “So you went and put _me_ in that position instead!”

Patches of red were growing on Thomas’ cheeks. “What the fuck?” 

Newt’s voice shot up an octave. “Stop pretending!” he roared, grabbing a fistful of Thomas’ shirt and yanking him closer. “If you had a single _shred_ of decency left, you would have at least told me that you were together with Brenda again after --”

“Don’t you _dare_ make this about me,” Thomas growled viciously, stabbing a finger into Newt’s chest. “How do you think I felt when I had to hear from _someone else_ that you and _him_ went on a fucking date?” he shouted.

Newt’s brain buzzed in confusion. 

“How do you think I felt when _someone else_ told me about you two _making out_ in _public_ , then calling you two a fucking couple? How do you think I felt, Newt?” he demanded. This time, he was the one who shoved Newt – with both hands.

Newt was caught enough by surprise that he staggered.

_Winston. The waiter. He knew Thomas._

Newt’s emotional capacity didn’t allow any guilt to enter. The rush of blood roared in his ears as he shot Thomas with his answer. “Does it even bloody matter to you? You seemed _fine_ when you were snogging Brenda’s face off!” 

He didn’t give Thomas a chance to reply as he stalked closer to him. His voice lowered, his rage barely controlled – they were both walking on thin ice. “I went over there that night to find you. To talk to you. To clear things up. And you pulled that shit.” 

Thomas let out an infuriated noise which bordered on animalistic. “Do you think I would have so much as _touched_ her if I hadn’t been so desperate to stop _thinking_ about you?” 

The blood was pumping in Newt’s head so hard and fast that black spots dotted his vision. In a frenzy, he shoved Thomas against the wall, pinning him with his arms. “Don’t lie to me!” he thundered. His voice escalated to match the fury of Thomas’. “Do you think I would have gone on a date with Alby if I hadn’t been so confused by all the fucking mixed signals you give me?” he yelled, fire in his pupils. “You _hugged me to sleep_ , then you just _left_ , damn you! What the hell was I supposed to do?”

Thomas’ chest was rising and falling rapidly. “Was sleeping with you not enough of a clue?” he laughed bitterly. They were standing so close, Newt could see his eyes glistening with tears.

He swallowed. “No, it wasn’t. But the sketchbook was.” 

Thomas’ eyes flashed. “So you looked at it.” 

“I did.” 

“You shouldn’t have,” he spat bitterly, wrestling out of Newt’s cage. He pushed Newt and sent him faltering back a few steps, then turned away. 

Newt’s hand shot out as he clamped it down onto Thomas’ arm. “Why not?” 

“Because now you’ll laugh at me for being in love with you when you’re with someone else!” He screamed, spinning back to face Newt. 

Newt froze. His heart halted dead.

_He said it._

Tears were streaming down Thomas’ face and his chest was heaving with the effort to breathe. “There. Now you know.” The words were broken and quiet. The blazing, angry Thomas was gone – replaced by an utterly fragile boy who had just had his heart broken. 

“Tommy…” All the rage, the frustration had dissipated, leaving only the most profound heartache behind. 

Thomas was still breathing hard, eyes sparkling with tears. “I didn’t want to lose you.” 

_Say it._

“I’m not going anywhere, Tommy.”

_Goddamn it Newt, just say it._

“Do you seriously think we can still be friends after this?” Thomas asked in disbelief. “After everything that’s happened, after this much hurt --”

“I love you.” 

Thomas froze. His brow creased in confusion as his breath hitched. 

“I love you, Tommy.” Newt repeated the words with a burning certainty. 

He blindly stepped forward, desperate to touch and feel _his_ Thomas. His hands frantically roamed over Thomas’ chest to pull him in. 

“I love you. I love you so much,” he confessed, a weight lifted off his shoulders of _finally_ being able to say it. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, shaking.

Thomas shook his head, a sob escaping his lips. 

Then he pulled Newt in and closed the distance between them.

* * *

The moment Thomas’ lips met his, the world stopped turning and time lost its meaning. Everything around Newt vanished. Stars collided behind closed eyelids, the ground was no longer solid; all he knew was Thomas’s gentle, desperate touch on his face and the quest of his swollen lips.

Thomas tasted like everything that Newt had never dared hope for, and everything that he had dared to imagine. He tasted like the sea, like honey, and even with the edge of alcohol, he tasted like _home_. He tasted like summer, like a crisp night, like the relish of a thousand pieces of broken heart mending themselves back together. As his tongue darted out to make a home between Thomas’ lips, he could feel the saltiness, and he knew that Thomas wasn’t the only one crying.

Kissing Thomas was like belonging. It was like he was suddenly _pulled_ upwards from thrashing waters onto warm sand, like having the first breath of air after drowning for a long time. His lungs were burning and breathing at the same time, and with every inhale, all he wanted to take in was Thomas. 

Every being of Newt’s fibre _ached_ with longing, of flaming desire, of such ardent adoration that the blood in his veins sang a symphony which echoed only with Thomas’ heartbeat. 

_Yours._

This, this was every good thing that Newt had ever experienced happening all at once. His mind was rushing with the intensity of their embrace, yet finally fully grounded by the certainty and security Thomas’ mouth composed against his. It was a passionate, fervent thing, yet paradoxically, still tentative. 

His fingers, on their own account, travelled from Thomas’ face to his hair, snaking themselves into Thomas’ brown tresses. Experimentally, he tugged on Thomas’ hair – eliciting a soft, sinful _whimper_ from the younger boy’s lips. 

Newt didn’t know how long they had kissed for, but he didn’t care. He wanted -- _needed_ more. His entire body was on fire, begging for Thomas. He could never get enough. 

They finally broke apart, breathing hard, hearts beating equally as vigorously. 

In that moment, Thomas was the most beautiful sight that Newt had ever laid eyes upon – his pupils were blown wide, eyes glassy with tears and love and lust, cheeks rosy with ardour, lips swollen and soft. 

Thomas was the one who moved first. With a heartfelt, keen gaze, he took Newt’s hand and slowly guided it towards his heart. 

“Feel that?” His heart was pounding furiously under Newt’s fingers. 

Newt swallowed and nodded, tears surging up into his eyes again.

“It beats for you.”

That was enough to undo Newt. Tears streaming anew, they put their foreheads together. 

Neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Rated semi-M!!  
> (Also please take the time to read the end notes!)

Newt sat on the floor next to Thomas, unable to tame his frantic heartbeat, and failing to subdue the overwhelming desire pumping through his veins. His mind was spinning with the abrupt turn of events. One minute, Thomas and him had been hurling daggers at each other; and the other, they were kissing as if their lives depended on it. 

But most of all, he had gotten the answer for sure.

Thomas really did love him. 

And his heart had never felt more _full_. All of the suffering, all of the hurt…turned out to be worth it in the end. 

He hesitantly reached out to put his hand onto Thomas’, willing his fingers to stop trembling. Thomas’ palm flipped up and enclosed Newt’s hand into his own, squeezing. 

Newt’s heart went wild, and he exhaled shakily. 

_Now what?_

“I’m sorry,” Thomas finally said sheepishly, breaking the silence. 

“What for?” 

“Being a dick. You didn’t deserve me coming at you like that.” 

“Quite the contrary. If you hadn’t started that…fight, I doubt we’d be like this now.” 

Thomas laughed. “Point taken.” 

Newt paused, and seized the opportunity to clear the air. “You were quite a dick, though,” he added, only half playfully.

Thomas turned to look at him, eyebrows raised – a silent request for elaboration. 

“Not about starting the fight,” Newt explained, running his other hand through his hair. “But you were rubbing Brenda in my face. And just when I thought I had you figured out…” He gave an exasperated shake of his head. “There you are, snogging her.” 

Thomas laughed again, this time in shame and embarrassment. “I know. I’m sorry. My brain was telling me that you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. My heart wouldn’t listen, and I was just _miserable_ , fucking pining after you for so long. I…needed a distraction.”

Newt snorted. “Some distraction. At least it worked.”

Thomas glanced at him with an odd look on his face. “Actually, it didn’t.” 

“What do you mean?”

Thomas shook his head, rubbing his face with his free hand. “It’s nothing. It didn’t go well. I didn’t…” 

_Oh, this has got to be good._

“Didn’t what?” Newt prodded, fighting to keep the smile off his face.

“We didn’t do anything.” 

Newt frowned. “From what I saw, you weren’t not doing anything.”

“We didn’t…” Thomas shook his head again, and even in the dim night, Newt could see the red creeping up his neck and tinting the tip of his ears. 

“Tommy…” Newt spurred. “Tell me.” 

“I didn’t have sex with her,” Thomas said in a rush, refusing to meet Newt’s eyes.

 _I gathered that. I want to hear you say why._

“Oh. Why?” Newt pushed, feigning cluelessness.

Thomas glared at him. “I’m pretty sure you can guess.” 

Newt shrugged. “Not a clue, mate.”

Thomas glared at him for some more, then proceeded to sigh in surrender. “Couldn’t get it up,” he murmured.

Newt made a valiant effort not to, but he actually started laughing. 

“Newt!” Thomas actually sounded slightly offended, and he nudged Newt hard, causing the other boy to have to catch his balance on the floor with his free hand.

“At least I don’t have to worry about her seducing you,” Newt chortled. 

Thomas grumbled a non-committal sound in response.

Then an even more bizarre thought flashed through Newt’ mind. 

“Hold up, you _can_ …usually, can’t you?” he queried with an unusually bold grin on his face.

“Oh my God, Newt,” Thomas groaned, snatching his hand away and burying his head in both his hands. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

Newt resumed laughing and put his hand on the small of Thomas’ back. “Okay, okay, I’m only joking, Tommy, lighten up.” 

“You’re a stupid bastard,” Thomas mumbled, his voice muffled.

“Isn’t that what you like?” Newt countered, more confident now that he knew, for sure, how Thomas felt. 

“Yes, and I can’t seem to get enough of it.” Thomas admitted. He lifted his head, his cheeks still red as if he was shy about the confession he just made. 

Newt had never seen this side of Thomas. His heart was bursting with affection, and he reached up to flick Thomas’ nose.

Thomas smiled back, but after a second, his eyes hardened. “And _apparently_ ,” he started, voice steely.

_Uh oh._

“Someone else can’t get enough of _my_ stupid bastard either.” He looked at Newt pointedly.

Newt looked abashed as he shrugged. “I’ll tell Alby soon.” 

“You’d better,” Thomas almost threatened. “Or I will.” 

“Possessive, aren’t we?” Newt said cheekily.

Thomas’ eyebrows flew off his face. “Oh, I think I have the right to be possessive. You’re _mine._ ” 

Newt’s heart nearly detonated upon hearing Thomas claim him, but he tried to play it cool. 

“You still have to take me out on a proper date and shit, if you want me to be yours.”

Thomas stared at Newt with predator eyes. “Is that so?” he challenged, his voice low, tinted with amusement and hunger.

Newt swallowed, his head reeling at how Thomas was approaching him carefully.

_Please kiss me._

Thomas inched closer and closer to Newt, close enough that he could feel his heated breath on his skin, close enough to _devour_ \-- 

And then he stopped advancing, looking up at Newt lazily through his thick eyelashes.

 _He’s so bloody attractive._

Newt swallowed again, positive that Thomas could feel the thundering of his heart. He hoped what he was going to say next was going to have the desired effect on Thomas. 

Provocatively, he breathed, “Yeah. Just like Alby did.”

Thomas’ eyes blazed with surprise, and anger. He growled, a deep rumble sounding through his chest – the _sexiest_ thing Newt had _ever_ heard – and in a swift motion, tackled Newt down onto the floor, leering on top of him. He supported his weight with his hands on either side of the blonde’s head. 

_Yes, Tommy. That’s it._

“I don’t ever,” Thomas whispered fiercely. “Want to hear you say his name again.” Dominantly, he grabbed both of Newt’s hands and pinned them on top of his head.

 _Oh my God. He’s so sexy. I can’t fucking breathe._

Lust pulsed through Newt’s entire being, strung tight like a bowstring, ready to snap any second. 

Thomas leaned down, brushing his mouth against the shell of Newt’s ear. Just a second, then the contact was gone. Newt gasped for air.

 _Fuck._

Then Thomas moved to leave a trail of burning kisses down Newt’s neck. He might as well have struck a match and set Newt on fire, because that was what it bloody felt like – each time Thomas’ mouth so much as _brushed_ against Newt’s flaming skin, his windpipe threatened to close up and he felt like the pure _want_ was going to choke him to death.

_More._

Thomas took his time wickedly licking the spots that he had sucked on Newt’s neck, hard. And when his tongue flickered over that _sweet spot_ , all of Newt’s self-control couldn’t hold back the wanton _moan_ that fought its way through his puffy lips. 

“Please, Tommy…” he pled, eyes shut, breathing ragged. 

Thomas made his way back up to Newt’s ear, and growled responsively at his stupid bastard calling his name, begging him. 

The sound shot straight from Newt’s head to his groin, and with a dirty whimper, his hips flew uncontrollably off of the ground into Thomas’ own hips, seeking the friction that he so _desperately_ needed.

Thomas laughed darkly and murmured approvingly again. “Yes, Newt?” he shifted his body upwards, and Newt bloody _lost it_ when he felt the evidence of Thomas’ arousal graze his thigh. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, his heart hammering, barely able to process the pleasure and the desire. 

“What’s his name again?” Thomas muttered against his lover’s neck, before violently sucking on the sweet spot that evoked the sinful sound. 

“I don’t know,” Newt gasped. “I don’t know.”

He felt Thomas smile against his skin. “Good,” he purred, then finally proceeded to kiss Newt’s lips. 

Newt kissed Thomas hungrily, attempting to quench his insatiable thirst for the younger boy’s mouth. 

He needed to feel more of Thomas, needed to touch him and _consume_ him –

His fingers latched onto the hem of Thomas’ shirt, tugging over and over, signalling for his Tommy to just _let him fucking take it off_ \--

Thomas laughed breathlessly and pulled away, sitting up. His weight was completely distributed where Newt wanted him the most. He twitched at the contact, and it was only the work of his sheer will that he could refrain from bucking his hips up. 

_Fuck, that was on purpose._

“Newt, calm down,” he chuckled, watching Newt’s feverish eyes and heavy breathing.

“You come at me and fucking _wreck_ me like this,” Newt panted, trying to catch his breath. “And you tell me to bloody calm down?” 

His accent was thick with craving, a sultry and sensual sound, and Thomas very nearly ravished him right then and there.

Newt’s eyes trailed south and landed on the tent Thomas was pitching. 

_What a sight._

He couldn’t help feeling a little smug and giddy inside.

_I did that to him._

“Looks like you aren’t so calm yourself,” he added. 

Thomas raised one eyebrow. “Well, then we’ll have to calm down together,” he said, then stood up from his straddling pose. The delicious pressure disappeared and Newt made an indignant sound.

Before Newt could protest, Thomas held out a hand for him to take. “If we don’t stop now, I’m not going to be able to stop,” Thomas said, hauling Newt up after he begrudgingly took his lover’s hand. 

“As much as I know you like this place, and as much as I like it as well, I am _not_ going to have sex in here.” 

Newt let out a laugh of surprise and shook his head as if to clear it. Trying to string a coherent thought together in this pleasure-starved state was harder than he would have thought. “Who said we were going to have sex?” 

Thomas’ eyes widened in disbelief. “You were _begging_ me two minutes ago--”

“Shh,” Newt cut him off, not wanting to think about how easily his control slipped when it came to Thomas. “Let’s go.” 

Shaking his head and chuckling fondly, Thomas took Newt’s hand in his, and together they journeyed back to Thomas’ place, two hearts beating as one.

* * *

Newt had genuinely thought that they were going to fuck each other senseless once they got back to Thomas’ – but Lord, was he mistaken.

Turned out, Thomas was _all for_ ‘old school’; wanting it to be special, wanting to wait. Newt had never felt more frustrated. 

But as they lay peacefully on Thomas’ bed, unhurriedly drinking each other in with their eyes, not having to sneak glances anymore, Newt made up his mind. If his Thomas wanted to wait – then wait he would. 

“I never pegged you for the waiting type,” Newt disclosed reluctantly, struggling to curb his desires. 

_For God’s sake, feels like I’m 15 again. Take a break, hormones._

Thomas feigned looking offended. “Are you saying I come off as promiscuous?” 

Newt grinned. “Maybe. How many girls have you dated?”

Thomas’ mocking expression slid right off his face as he shook his head vigorously. “Don’t even go there.”

“That bad, huh?” Newt couldn’t help but feel his heart twinge slightly in jealousy.

“Had a faze. Thought it fit with the bad boy persona, you know.” 

Newt snorted incredulously. “Sorry for knocking you off your A-game.” His voice literally dripped in sarcasm as he rolled his eyes. 

Thomas frowned. “Hey. I need to _thank_ you for that,” he said sternly, pinching Newt’s arm.

“ _Ow._ That’s how you thank me?” It wasn’t actually painful though. Couldn’t hurt to milk Thomas’ affection. 

Thomas only flicked Newt’s nose in response. 

“Am I the first guy you’ve been with?” Newt questioned curiously, the thought randomly flying through his head.

Thomas laughed nervously. “You were my goddamn sexual awakening, Newt.” 

Newt’s jaw _dropped_. 

_He can’t be bloody serious._

“Are you having a laugh?” He realised how offensive that would sound, and quickly backtracked. “Surely another guy has hit on you before.” 

Thomas shook his head. “I mean…sure, but I never felt anything for them. I never even found a guy attractive the way – the way I find you attractive.”

Newt couldn’t believe his ears. “You didn’t know you were bisexual before me?” 

Thomas shook his head again. “So you can probably imagine how I felt when I first saw you – so _pretty_ standing there surrounded by flowers, your hair all soft and gold and your fingers long and – and nimble; you looked like a goddamn _fairy prince_ or whatever – that was when it hit me. I was like, _shit. Well, this is new._ ”

Newt had completely no control over the Cheshire Cat grin spreading over his face. Normally, he would have balked at a compliment as extreme as this, but seeing Thomas so flustered had magically evaporated all his shyness. 

“Tell me more. How’d you feel?” 

Thomas shot him a dirty look. “Enjoy hearing about appealing you are, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, very much so. Do continue.” 

The younger boy rolled his eyes, but obediently complied. “So I was sitting there, drawing the plants – I had to try _very_ hard not to draw you instead--”

“Which you failed.” 

“Shush. And when you opened your mouth and that _British accent_ came out, my brain immediately short circuited. All I could do was think about how I wouldn’t mind having you, and wonder about how your lips would feel – and I knew I was utterly screwed. There was no way I was straight after that.” 

“Mmm, got a British kink, have we now?” Newt intentionally drew out the syllables, making his accent more prominent than ever. 

Thomas laughed half-embarrassedly and shoved Newt. “You’re insufferable.”

“I know. It’s my brand.”

“Wow, good to see your confidence skyrocketing. If I had known you’d become so much more self-assured I probably would have told you I liked you earlier. Just for your sake,” Thomas teased. 

Childishly, Newt stuck out his tongue. 

“You hid it very well though. At the start, I actually couldn’t tell you were interested. In me, I mean,” he confessed.

Thomas smiled knowingly. “Oh, I know. I tried to deny it. Useless. You kept pulling me in.”

“And you let me,” Newt smirked, crawling to fit himself more snugly on Thomas’ lap. 

“You didn’t really give me any choice, Newt.” 

“Well, now I’m giving you a choice. Do you want me or not?” Newt challenged playfully, daring Thomas to answer.

Thomas sighed into Newt’s hair and hugged him tightly, almost crushing him.

Newt was content for the fierce embrace to be Thomas’ reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this chapter was a pure Newtmas filler without any proper plot, but if I guess correctly, I won't be expecting any complaints from you ;)
> 
> Moving on, there are a few questions that I _desperately_ need you guys to answer! (Please comment!)  
>  1\. Would you guys prefer me keeping things semi-mature (like this chapter), family-friendly (no mentioning at all), or full-on explicit (basically smut, but with class; don't worry)? Voice your thoughts!
> 
> 2\. Now that I've gotten them together, the objective of this story is basically achieved, and I have started to run out of ideas because I don't want to make the story drag on pointlessly without plot. So hear me out: unless you guys have some ideas/ give some prompts about what you want to see from the boys, I think this story might be coming to a close soon. 
> 
> With that being said, please fire away in the comments to tell me absolutely anything that you would like me to include in the story, and I will do my best to incorporate it :) It can be a scenario, a sentence, an idea -- anything. 
> 
> 3\. Do you guys want a plot twist? Just say yes or no ;) 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me if you're still reading! xx From author to reader, your comments and views really matter, so please let me know what you think :3 Kisses xx
> 
> PS If you want to private message me your ideas or just talk to me, just hmu on tumblr -- same url (veryintimate) :)


	18. Chapter 18

Newt awoke to a banging noise. “Shut up,” he groaned, burying himself deeper into Thomas’ chest. Miraculously, the brunette was still asleep. 

He really didn’t expect his first morning waking up as Thomas’ boyfriend to be this…un-peaceful. 

Trying to shaking the vexation off, Newt convinced himself that it was construction noise, and that it would go away. It persisted for another 2 minutes, escalating stably. 

Then it occurred to him that _someone might be at the door._

“Oh, shit.” Newt lurched up, half-awake, too somnolent to realize he was only in a pair of boxers as he ran to open it. 

“Coming!” he yelled, his sleepy limbs a little too unreactive in the morning.

He yanked the door open and the noise stopped mid-bang. Surprise smacked him in the face: Minho stood there, features creased in a frown. It melted into an expression of relief upon seeing Newt.

“Newt, thank _God._ ” he exhaled, visibly loosening up. 

“Good morning,” Newt mumbled, already inclined to crawl back into bed with Thomas. 

“No, it’s not a very good morning!” In the blink of an eye, Minho’s look of consolation morphed into an irritated, angry scowl. “Do you know how worried I was? You were gone for the whole night, and neither you nor Thomas would answer any texts or calls!” he reproached.

“Sorry. I didn’t think you were going to be that worried,” Newt apologised, stifling a yawn. Truth to be told, he hadn’t even thought about Minho even _once_ last night. Not even once. 

“You left all ticked off, and – hey, don’t you yawn at me!” 

Newt immediately clamped his mouth shut, nodding and widening his eyes to appear more awake. “Yes, sorry.” 

“You could at least try to sound sorrier,” Minho grumbled. 

Newt sighed dejectedly. “Mate, I’m sorry for worrying you. But here I am now, so breathe.” 

Minho looked at Newt half-resentfully. Newt debated apologizing again, but before he could formulate the words – Minho’s entire face _lit up_ and his eyes disappeared into half-moons. 

“I was too busy worrying I didn’t even process it!” he clapped Newt on the back.

“What --”

“ _Finally!_ ” he hooted much louder than necessary. 

_Oh. He caught on._

Blood rushed to Newt’s cheeks before he could even feel the embarrassment. “Yeah,” he laughed sheepishly. “We…sorted it out.” 

Minho looked like Christmas had come early. “I was shipping you two from the start, you know. I really was.” 

“ _Shipping?_ ” Newt raised an eyebrow at Minho’s wording. “Have you been around Teresa for too long?” 

For once, the Korean looked to distractedly happy to bite Newt’s head off for taking a dig at him for being infatuated with Teresa. 

“Did you get some?” He waggled his eyebrows in the most obnoxious manner. 

“I’m not sharing details with you!” Newt rose his voice to show how he wouldn’t condone this disrespect for appropriacy. 

Minho was still wearing his shit-eating grin when Thomas padded out from the bedroom, clad in also _only_ boxers, and rubbing his eyes.

“Newt, who’s --” he broke off when he saw Minho (and his broad grin). “Hey, man,” he greeted, scratching the back of his neck somewhat bashfully – as if Minho had caught the two in the act.

Minho’s grin grew even wider (if that was even possible) and he threw his hands in the air. “Okay, I have my answer! I’m leaving now. You two better not start becoming too busy in the bedroom and forgetting about your friends.”

“Oi,” Newt said indignantly. “Do you take me as some sort of unappreciative--”

“No,” Minho interrupted. He jerked his head in Thomas’ direction. “I’m just saying you might be too besotted with this one to keep your hands off him.” 

While Newt groaned (but was secretly giddy that he was now warranted to _not_ keep his hands off Thomas), Thomas had the impertinence to laugh with Minho and even give him a high five.

“You two are incorrigible,” Newt grumbled and he trudged back into the bedroom. 

Thomas turned to wave at Minho and follow him in, but before they could turn around the hallway, Minho’s last shout could still reach their ears.

“Use protection!” he bellowed.

“Oh bloody…” Newt couldn’t be more horrified. It wasn’t until Thomas smothered him with kisses that his annoyed thoughts about Minho melted away.

* * *

Even though he didn’t want to admit it, Minho’s forecast stood correct. For the following few days, Newt and Thomas were attached at the hip – they couldn’t seem to keep their hands (or lips) off each other. 

Newt had spent three consecutive nights with Thomas – talking for as long as they wanted while Netflix played idly in the background, occasionally peppering each other with soft touches and leisured kisses. They both faded in and out of sleep, and Newt felt blessed to the utmost whenever he opened his eyes and his Tommy was there. He had found his new favourite place, which remarkably surpassed the Glade: Thomas’ place. Actually, scratch that – his new favourite place was anywhere Thomas was. 

Not even wanting to leave his side, Newt had resorted to wearing Thomas’ clothes. Yes, the shirts were a little too big on him given the difference between the younger boy’s muscly build and his comparatively lankier one, but they smelled _heavenly_ and Newt seriously considered stealing all of his boyfriend’s clothing just so he could sniff them regularly. Like his personal brand of heroin. 

Plus, he could just roll the sleeves up a bit. Like…like a hipster.

_Oh my God. I’m becoming a lovestruck girl._

Newt tried to laugh at himself, but he was genuinely startled about what Thomas was doing to him. 

_Maybe I’ll have to start spending time with Minho again. After I’ve…taken the edge off._

Thinking about Thomas and his relationship was so much better than forcing himself to focus on Janson’s nasally, droning tone. He didn’t even realize that the lecture was dismissed, and only caught on when he saw other people packing up. 

In good spirits, he walked over to the faculty of arts building to surprise Thomas, who was having a class with Dr Paige, the art instructor. 

He was deep in thought about how to break the news to Alby, which he had been purposely avoiding (like a complete coward) ever since that night, when someone pat him on the shoulder. 

It was Brenda.

_Ah. You again._

“Hey! Newt, right?” Brenda asked in her bubbly voice. Her enthusiasm seemed real and Newt’s heart itched with guilt for not liking her. 

“Yeah, hi. And you’re Brenda.” He gave her a small smile, dreading to know what she was doing here. Because if she was here for the same reason he was…

“Yeah, Brenda! What are you doing here?” she questioned, a sincere smile on her face.

_Well, better not lie to her._

“I’m waiting for Thomas.” 

_Please don’t say me too, please don’t say me too…_

“Me too!” 

_Oh, great._

She frowned slightly. “He’s been missing lately. I’ve tried getting into contact with him, like texting and stuff, but he’s suddenly gone off the radar.” 

Newt’s heart started beating faster. _That’s because he’s been in bed with me all day._

Brenda, knowing that Newt was Thomas’ best friend, probably expected an explanation. Part of him was grateful that the news wasn’t his to deliver. 

“Oh,” he managed, blinking. “He might be…busy with someone.” _Was that vague enough?_

Brenda’s eyes widened as she clasped a hand to her chest dramatically. “Oh _no_ , that can’t be. We were still hooking up last week!” 

_I know, I saw you snogging his face off. Now his face is mine to snog and you will never come close to it again._

“Were you?” He said drily. “I heard he got together with someone new.” 

_Dangerous territory, Newt. Backtrack._

“Well, I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Brenda said patronizingly. “We go way back.” 

_Right. Not that that matters, Brenda._

Before Newt could do any further damage, the lecture hall door opened and students began pouring out. 

Newt’s heart started beating even faster at the anticipation of how Thomas would handle the situation.

Among the sea of students, Thomas was one of the last to come out. Brenda saw him as well, and after giving Newt a knowing smile, she sailed into the crowd to get close to Thomas. 

“Thomas!” she trilled, launching into her overly touchy routine every time she saw him. Newt resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he made his way to Thomas as well.

Thomas was surprised (the bad kind) to see her – it was evident on his face. But when his eyes landed on Newt, the surprise turned into the good kind. 

“Hey, Tommy,” he greeted, smiling. He made no move to kiss the brunette – even though he didn’t like Brenda, he didn’t want to mess her up like that.

“You should have waited for me at the Glade,” he muttered into Newt’s ear as they had a quick one-armed hug, the type boys were more partial to. 

Newt shrugged, his face a mildly amused mask as he tilted his head subtly to Brenda.

“Thomas,” Brenda repeated, her tone still sweet. “Where’ve you _been_ lately? You’re not answering any texts or calls or – are you seeing someone new?” she pouted, obviously expecting no as an answer.

“Who told you that?” Thomas asked, glancing to Newt with a gleam in his eyes. 

Had Brenda not looked so murderously shocked, Newt would have laughed. 

“Wait, what?” Brenda said, her voice instantly dropping, losing its sugary lilt. 

“Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Bren.” To Thomas’ credit, he really did look apologetic. “But there’s someone else now.” 

Brenda’s eyes widened even more. “Who is she?” It sounded more like a demand than a question.

“Actually…” Thomas turned to Newt and then back to Brenda. His hand settled on the small of Newt’s back, and Brenda’s eyes were wider than saucers. 

She took in the intimacy of the gesture, and seemed to realize that Newt was wearing Thomas’ shirt. Realization dawned on her face and she didn’t bother to hide her shock.

“Wow,” she said in a much quieter voice. “I…really didn’t expect this.” 

Newt ducked his head. “Sorry I didn’t tell you right away, Brenda,” he apologized courteously. “I felt like you deserved to hear it from Thomas and not me.” 

_That came out wrong._

But Brenda didn’t look mad – she looked a little confused, but much less angry. 

“You’re… _bisexual?_ ” she asked, eyes wide, as if a little in awe.

Thomas shrugged. “Am now, apparently.” He shot Newt a quick glance as if to say, _thanks to you._

Brenda blinked and none of them said anything for a while. Newt braced himself for Brenda’s tantrum – but surprisingly, and thankfully, it didn’t come.

“Well,” she said, giving Newt a once-over. 

Even though Thomas’ stance was relaxed, Newt could tell he was slightly unnerved. They waited expectantly.

“I can see why he likes you.” 

Both Newt and Thomas laughed in surprise. A short laugh, but one evidently relieved. 

Brenda smiled, and Newt’s heart lifted. 

“Thanks for understanding,” Thomas said, almost unable to hide his surprise. 

Brenda shrugged. “You two…look good together,” she said approvingly.

_And she continues to surprise me._

“Oh my god. Now I know why you couldn’t --” Brenda broke off, groaning, and shuddered. “Okay. We’re never going there again.” She glared at Thomas, and he had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, shaking his head. “Yes. Not going there.” 

Brenda made a face, then sighed somewhat wistfully. “Well, now I have what I came for.” The brief silence indicated that neither of the boys knew what she was talking about. 

“Answers,” she provided.

_Ahh._

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” she said, much more graciously than Newt could have ever expected. 

He felt pleasantly taken by surprise as they watched her depart. 

Thomas let out a huge breath and he had his hands in his hair, as if he couldn’t believe his ears and eyes. “I actually cannot believe that happened.” 

“Trust me, me either,” Newt agreed. “But I’ll take it.”

“Now all you have to do is tell the other one,” Thomas reminded in a stony tone.

Newt huffed. “The other one has a name, Tommy. Respect.” 

“I don’t think you remembered his name when I was sucking on your neck,” Thomas fired back. 

“Fair enough. You win.”

* * *

Guilty for leaving Minho alone for so long, Newt had decided to return to their dorm to spend the night. 

Turns out, Minho was busy being with Teresa – who had breathlessly (for God knows whatever reason) congratulated Newt about his and Thomas’ union over the phone when he called Minho – and Minho had hung up before he could register it. 

So Newt sat awake in his own bed, dedicatedly studying the drawings in Thomas’ sketchbook once again, but this time in a completely different light. Now that he knew Thomas was in love with him too, the affection and adoration reflected in every single sketch was amplified by hundreds of times. 

He traced his finger over the drawing of the bluebell tattoo. 

_He designed this for me. For us._ He repeated the fact in his mind like a mantra; for his brain had refused to accept that he could become the _muse_ of someone as gorgeous and as talented as Thomas. 

He hadn’t known how to express his gratitude. But staring at the tattoo design, it slowly dawned on him:

_I’ll ask him to tattoo this on me._

Feeling immensely satisfied with himself, he put the sketchbook away and went to sleep, certain that there was no better way than this to prove his love for Thomas. 

He missed the text from Alby that said _Please call, I miss you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Hope you all enjoyed Minho's and Brenda's reactions :) The most dramatic one (from Alby) is yet to come! 
> 
> On a different note, after I include the ideas that you all have pitched the last chapter, I'll be starting a different fanfic. I have 2 ideas: do you guys want to be surprised, or do you want to vote on which one I should pursue? ;) Let me know!
> 
> Don't forget to leave your kudos and comments! Much love xx


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alby finds out. Cue the drama.

The text filled Newt with steadfast feeling of dread and discomfort. He had no clue about how to break the news to Alby; even though the older boy had promised he’d respect Newt’s decision, Newt was still terrified that he would hurt Alby. 

_I can’t tell him over text. That would be cowardly._

He flipped over onto his stomach, burying his head into his pillow as if the answer would emerge from the soft fabric.

Concentration took over his mind so much that he nearly didn’t hear Minho coming in through the door. 

“Good morning,” the other boy chirruped, and Newt held up a finger in the air to signify ‘shut up’. 

“That’s not very nice. Where’s Tommy boy?” 

“ _Thomas_ ,” Newt corrected automatically, “is at his place. Help me think.” He sat up, sighing in trepidation. “You know how I went on a date with Alby?”

“Mhmm.”

“And you know how he kissed me?”

“Mhmm.”

“He said he’d wait for me to make my decision – about whether I choose him or Thomas.”

“ _Mhmm._ ”

“And I’d better tell him soon because I don’t want to be an arse.” 

Minho snorted. “Well, could have thought about that before you went and wrapped two people around your pinky.” 

Newt’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Hey, I didn’t ask for this! If I had known that Thomas…you know, I would never have gone for Alby!” 

Minho clapped his hands once, loud enough to make Newt jump, and pointed at him. “There you have it. Just tell him that.”

Newt chewed on his inner cheek. “I can’t bloody well tell him that. What do I say? ‘Oh, I wasn’t sure if the guy I like liked me back, so I just decided to go with my second choice instead. Which was you, in case that wasn’t clear enough.’” 

The Korean responded with an eye roll. “You _could_ phrase it a little more delicately, you know.”

Newt groaned and shook his head. “He was so heartfelt and forgiving with me, I’d do him wrong if I wasn’t.”

Minho settled onto Newt’s bed, sighing and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Newt. Whatever you say…it won’t change anything. You’ve made your choice already. Might as well get it over with.” 

Even though the blonde was still guilt-ridden and apprehensive about breaking the news, he knew deep down that Minho was right – the damage had already been done, and there wasn’t anything he could (or wanted to) say to rectify it.

* * *

“Tommy, stop touching me,” Newt mumbled for the thousandth time as he endeavoured to maintain his focus on the plant he was grafting. 

Thomas, of course, wouldn’t listen. He attentively fingered Newt’s soft blond hair, fingertips sometimes skimming across the older boy’s scalp, sending tremors through Newt’s entire head and back. 

“Sorry,” Thomas muttered, withdrawing his hand, only to put it back a few seconds again.

Newt huffed in amusement, but kept his eyes on the plant. Grafting, after all, did require extreme precision. 

“It’s just.” Newt tried very hard to ignore the gentle contact. “It’s easier for me to draw things that I know the texture of,” Thomas explained.

“Is that so?” Newt murmured, very carefully inserting the scion into the incision he just made. “I don’t think…” His tongue stuck out from the corner of his mouth in concentration as he meticulously started to secure the graft. “that you should be feeling _my_ hair…when you’re supposed to draw the plants.” 

He reached for the masking tape to secure the plastic he bound the graft with, smirking at Thomas’ indignant face at the loss of contact. “Come back!”

“So impatient,” he smiled fondly. Holding up the roll of tape, he offered, “Do you want to try finish this up?”

Thomas’ eyes widened and he cocked his head. “Newt, I’ll kill it. My hands are nowhere as gentle as yours.” 

Newt smiled wider. “It’s okay, I’ll show you how.” His boyfriend reluctantly took the tape and stepped closer to the plant. “What do I do?”

“Mmkay, you see how I wrapped this plastic around the stem?” he asked, both of them bending over to get closer to plant. “What the plastic does is protect the opening of the incision I just made. The tape will really secure it to make sure it doesn’t fall – Thomas!” 

Thomas’ eyes snapped open. “Yes, make sure it doesn’t fall out. I was listening,” he said quickly.

Suspicion was written across Newt’s face as he tore off a piece of the tape and handed it to Thomas. “ _Were_ you?” 

Thomas took the tape haughtily. “Yes, I was. I’m very perceptive, I’ll have you know.” 

Newt raised his eyebrows, but resumed to instructing Thomas in finishing up the graft. “So now all you have to do is wrap it twice around this part…” he gestured. “Not too tight, but tight enough…yes, that’s it…and then write today’s date on the masking tape.” 

Thomas looked extremely proud of himself as he straightened up. “I grafted a plant!” he announced, beaming. 

Newt’s heart swelled. _How bloody cute is he?_

“Yes, you did,” Newt agreed breezily. “Good boy. Do you want to do another one?”

“Can I really?” Thomas asked. 

Newt nodded.

_It’s only one plant. Won’t matter if he screws it up._

Thomas had his game face on as Newt handed him the blade. “Do you know how to do it?”

“Talk me through it.” 

Newt stepped behind Thomas and placed his mouth next to Thomas’ ear, aware of keeping steady and quiet so he could help Thomas focus.

“Okay, so first, you have to make vertical incisions. You have to make four 3-inch vertical cuts through the rootstock’s bark…yes, it’s that part…and you start at the top. Careful now, don’t cut yourself.”

Newt observed Thomas’ artist hands skilfully slicing through the plant.

“Very good,” he muttered approvingly. “That’s the first one. Do it again, but right over there…yes...and over there…nice…that’s it. Now take the scion over there, you don’t have to cut it, I did already. Yes, and slowly slide it inside. Align it nicely first, insert it into the opening.”

Thomas did as he was told, but to Newt’s utter surprise, his hands started to shake. 

“Beautiful,” Newt whispered appreciatively. “Then take a rubber band, and loop it around. Start at the bottom and slowly wrap the junction together like you watched me. Take it slow, we’ve got time.” 

Thomas’ nervous hands did a good job, and Newt was impressed that this was Thomas’ first time. 

“A bit harder, love,” Newt instructed. 

Thomas’ hands jerked and Newt felt him inhale sharply.

“Tommy, are you alright?” he asked, startled at the sudden movement.

Thomas swallowed, exhaled, and resumed tying. He was done after several seconds, and braced the edge of the table he was working on. 

“Tommy?” Newt asked again, curious and slightly worried.

Thomas turned around and exhaled again, louder this time, and ran his hand through his hair. “You’re _such_ a tease,” he complained breathlessly. 

Newt blinked. 

“Slowly slide it inside?” Thomas reminded incredulously, then let out a shaky laugh. “A bit harder?” 

_Oh._

“And you have the gall to whisper it into my ear as well when your front is pressed up against my ass,” Thomas added, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, Newton.” 

Newt’s jaw dropped as he realized the other boy’s situation in his pants. “Tommy, I _really_ didn’t intend to do anything like that.”

Thomas’ eyes flitted over Newt’s shoulder and back to his. “Please shut up,” he mumbled before attaching his lips onto the secret sweet spot on Newt’s neck.

The surprise wave of pleasure that crashed over Newt wrenched the dirtiest whimper out from the blonde’s mouth. 

Thomas’ lips were fire on his skin and the bare contact made lightning ricochet through his very bones. 

“Tommy,” he gasped, subconsciously fisting his fingers through the brunette’s hair. “Not here – _fuck_.” His knees very nearly gave out from underneath him as Thomas _sucked_ , then ran his tongue over the slight hurt. 

The delight was almost unbearable.

_Slam!_

Newt’s eyes shot open at the intrusive noise that came from behind him, jolting awake from the pleasure haze he had started to immerse into. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a familiar figure storming away from the slammed door –

_Alby._

“Shit,” Newt cursed, his heart dropping and all traces of excitement evaporating into thin air. “I haven’t told him yet. I didn’t want him to find out like this.” He started to stride towards the door, and opened his mouth to call Alby’s name.

He was stopped by Thomas’ grip on his forearm. The other boy had his mouth set in a hard line and his expression was solemn, yet void of any surprise.

_Why is he not surprised?_

“Newt, don’t. He’ll be fine.”

Newt looked at Thomas like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “No, I should have told him. Tommy, let go, I should go talk to him.” 

Thomas’ hold didn’t budge, and neither did his expression.

“Newt.”

Newt frowned. “Thomas, I’m serious. I need to go talk to him.” He tugged on his arm again, but Thomas stood his ground.

_What the…?_

It was then when realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

“You knew,” Newt registered. “You knew he was there. You saw him.”

_That’s why he looked over my shoulder before he kissed me._

Newt waited for Thomas’ denial, but the way Thomas blinked in a displeased manner was all the confirmation he needed.

He wrenched his arm away from Thomas’ hand and glared at Thomas in a blend of hurt and anger. “You knew he was watching, and you knew I hadn’t told him yet!” he accused, his voice raising slightly. 

Silence met his accusations.

He made a noise of frustration. “Bloody hell, Thomas, why?” he fumed. Before Thomas could even administer a reply, Newt had spun around and was out of the Glade, chasing after Alby.

* * *

“Alby! Alby, listen!” He shouted as he struggled to catch up with the older boy. “Hey--”

“Thanks for letting me know, Newt, really,” Alby snapped, not slowing down. 

“Al, come on,” Newt pled, his heart stooping even lower. “Hear me out.” He tried not to wince as his leg started to hurt.

“There’s nothing for me to hear,” he finalized shortly, even hurrying his pace.

_Shit, slow the fuck down._

“I promise there is. I didn’t know you were there. I wanted to tell you.” 

Alby snorted, breaking off into a jog. “Right.”

“I did!” Newt insisted. Alby quickened his run even more. “Shit,” Newt muttered under his breath as his bad leg muscle screamed in protest. He knew he couldn’t keep running.

Alby halted to a stop upon hearing Newt curse, and his eyes swivelled to Newt’s limp. He bit back a question of _are you okay_ , and stood there, arms crossed.

“You have one minute,” he said finally, his voice cutting like granite. The tender warmth that reminded Newt of chocolate and champagne was nowhere to be found.

Newt swallowed and launched into an apology hurriedly. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted to tell you so bad but I didn’t know how to reach out. I know, I’m a shit person and I never wanted you to find out like this. I’m sorry.” 

“You could have at least sent a text,” Alby said stonily.

Newt ran his hand through his hair. “Alby, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice laced with urgency. “I didn’t want to do it over text. I didn’t want to do it over the phone. I didn’t want to be a coward. I wanted to _meet_ with you, physically, and tell you because that’s the least you deserve after being so sincere with me.” 

“And look where there got me,” Alby pointed out.

Newt was at a loss for words. “It’s not--”

“It’s not you, it’s me, right?” Alby cut in scathingly. “You know what? Actually, I would be fine with you making a decision that I didn’t like. I would respect it. But I expected you to at least _tell_ me before I _found out_ like this. I didn’t expect you to _let_ your decision hurt me and slap me in the face.” 

Newt’s heart seized in self-reproach.

“That’s enough.” 

Newt’s head snapped to see Thomas approaching, his face set in steel. A barely controlled flame was contained in his eyes. 

Alby straightened up. “Thomas.” There was nothing friendly in his tone, and for a moment, Newt had the ridiculous feeling that he was some sort of prize being pursued by two magnificent beasts.

“It’s over,” Thomas said, his voice low and crackling with threatening intensity. 

_What is happening?_

“Thomas, what are you doing?” Newt hissed. “Stop.”

Thomas only glanced at Newt before he ploughed on. 

“You lost, Alby. You know it. Just tell him.” 

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Newt interjected, his voice lowering to match Thomas’ anger. He hated feeling like this: helpless yet like it was his fault. 

He glanced at Alby only to see the older boy glaring back at Thomas, his eyes dark with anger. He looked like…like he knew what was going on as well.

Confused, nervous and definitely angry about being out of the loop, Newt looked back and forth between the two boys. Gone were the watchful masks of politeness; both of them exuded aggression and Thomas’ angelic face was pulled into an intimidating glower. 

“Do you want to tell him or should I?” Thomas asked, his tone more menacing than Newt had ever heard. Alby actually _growled_ in response, which caused Thomas to raise his guard up even more.

“Tommy,” Newt said in a softer voice, reminding Thomas that he was still there, and that he needed an explanation. The glower left Thomas’ face for a bit and apology softened the corners of his mouth as he turned to Newt.

“Alby here.” Thomas gave a hostile jerk of his head in the direction of the other boy. “Decided to…reach out to me a few weeks ago. Before we started dating.”

_What the bloody fuck?_

Alby’s eyes slowly closed and he loosed an exhale that was both tired and angry. “Don’t you fucking warp the story--”

Newt’s fierce scowl was enough to silence him. 

“We had a little talk,” Thomas recalled, smiling mockingly at Alby. “About how you and Alby here supposedly got together during midterms.”

Newt blinked, unable to comprehend. _Did he fucking manipulate Thomas to think that we were dating?_

Alby made no move to deny Thomas’ words, so Newt took that as validation of his queries. 

“He threatened me. Told me to stay away from his ‘boyfriend’ – you,” Thomas continued, putting a hand on Newt’s back. 

_So that's why Thomas stayed away from me like I was the plague. That's why he was rubbing Brenda in my face._

“Is that true?” he asked Alby quietly, the icy rage cutting through his words like an iceberg. Alby remained quiet and motionless. “Is that true?” Newt shouted again, feeling the fury pulse through his head. His eyes were probably wild with anger, and he could distantly feel himself breathing harder than he should be, but he didn’t care. This was a line crossed.

His anger was met with only silence.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” he said scathingly at Alby at last. The older boy’s face was unreadable, but he too, was breathing hard.

“I can’t believe you either!” he turned to Thomas, the rage refusing to dim. The blood pounding in his ears edged him on. “You _believed_ him!” 

Thomas’ eyes widened. “The _timing_ , Newt. It was during midterms, after you got sick…neither of us said a full sentence to each other.” 

Newt’s consistent stream of angry thoughts paused. _He has a fair point._

“I fell for it at first. I didn’t know what to think,” Thomas said quietly, only meant for Newt to hear. “But I didn’t ask you about it. I wanted you to tell me. I had my doubts, but when Winston told me about…about that night, I thought it was true.” He swallowed and turned to stare Alby down again. “Oh, don’t worry, I found out it wasn’t.” 

Newt didn’t know what to think. His mind reeled as he took in the situation. 

Thomas stepped closer to Alby, his lip pulled back to reveal his teeth unkindly. “And I never said a word about it to Newt because I was waiting. To give you a chance to come clean.” He shrugged. “Too late, buddy.” 

Alby snarled and in two blinding seconds, he had swung his balled fist – and a sickening crunch sounded.

_Shit shit shit_

“Are you fucking mental?” Newt roared. He immediately zeroed in on Thomas, who was clutching his cheek, eyes livid. 

“Tommy, love, look at me,” Newt whispered desperately, twisting to get a look at Thomas’ face. The injury was covered by his hand, but the _sound_ told Newt that it must have been strikingly painful.

“Walk away,” Thomas growled at Alby.

In the midst of worry and anger, Newt’s heart fluttered in awe at how Thomas could still be the bigger man.

It was safe to say that Alby had immediately regretted the decision. His eyes were wide and void of anger, filled with fear and panic instead. “I --”

“Just go,” Newt said viciously, not even looking at him. “Don’t talk to me again. And if you ever come near Thomas…” he paused to look over his shoulder, letting the biting hatred in his eyes finish his threat.

When Newt took Thomas' hand and turned to walk them both back to his dorm, he could still feel Alby's gaze burning helplessly into their backs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama!! I hope it lived up to your expectations :s If not, I'm sorryy!
> 
> Keep letting me know what you guys want to see from Newtmas xx Kudos and comments MUCH appreciated!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and Smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Rated M!  
> I don't think there's anything explicit in here, but if you're offended by that type of thing, please kindly skip this chapter! No plot development, so don't worry.

“He really is fucking mental,” Newt muttered furiously as he painstakingly pried away Thomas’ fingers from his cheek, inspecting the injury with no small amount of heartache from seeing the younger boy hurt. 

Thomas sat slouched on the side of the bed while Newt stood bent over him. With cautious but deft fingers, Newt held the ice pack onto the wound.

The brunette only grimaced in response, his fingers reaching to probe his blossoming bruise even through the ice. Newt caught his wrist. “ _Please_ don’t touch it, love,” he said in dismay for the third time. “You’ll make it worse.”

“I’m fine.” Thomas tended to do that – insist that he was fine, play it off. The swelling on his left cheekbone indicated otherwise. 

“I’ve no doubt that you will be, but only if you stop touching it,” Newt beseeched patiently. 

“Newt, don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt,” Thomas asserted again. Despite his reassurance, his voice was still rough and even though Thomas was strong, Newt knew Alby had put all his strength in his right hook. Heck, it wasn’t even a matter of whether you were strong or not – being hit like that would, objectively, hurt like fuck. 

Weighed down with guilt and helplessness, Newt snagged his bottom lip between his teeth and started chewing. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, disheartened. “You got hurt ‘cause of me.” 

“Hey.” Thomas grabbed the other boy’s chin and tilted it up. “Hey, no. It’s not your fault. He’s the asshole that stirred up a shit storm.” 

“’m sorry you thought we were dating.” Newt refused to meet Thomas’ eyes. The apology, though whole-hearted, sounded more miserable than any other apology he had made, even to his own ears. “I should’ve known.”

Thomas tugged on his chin a little more forcefully, and Newt’s brown eyes finally met his hazel ones. “Newt,” he said, gentle but firm. “You couldn’t have known. He was so manipulative. I believed him too.” 

Thomas was right. Newt knew he was right, yet he still couldn’t get rid of that nagging remorse at the pit of his stomach, nor the harrowing voice in his mind that said _your fault, your fault_ : if he hadn’t fooled around with Alby and gotten his hopes up, Alby would have never made the allegation, which would have made things so much less complicated. More importantly, that bruise wouldn’t be perched on Thomas’ face. 

“I didn’t even like him,” Newt said, crestfallen. “I’m sorry that I put you through that, Tommy.” More frustrated at himself than angry at Alby, he let the ice pack fall onto the bed, and the chagrin was visible on his face.

“Alright, you idiot, stop apologizing.” There was no bite to Thomas’ tone, only kind fondness. He pulled Newt onto his lap, the blonde easily ceding to his touch. “If I had to choose again, I would still go through that for you. As long as you’re at the finish line, I would go through it. No matter what the cost.” 

Newt’s heart surged in gratitude for Thomas’ words. _How did I get so bloody lucky?_

“You hear me?” Thomas asked, the devotion fierce in his promise. 

Newt nodded wordlessly, not knowing how to reciprocate the intensity of Thomas’ affirmation. He resorted to burying his face into the crook of Thomas’ neck, breathing in his scent, directing his lungs to remember the memory of it. 

“I don’t deserve you,” Newt murmured against Thomas’ skin.

“Don’t say that,” Thomas said sharply, his fingers suddenly digging into Newt’s waist. 

At first, the pressure was tolerable; even comforting, but Thomas’ fingers kept pushing relentlessly, and Newt had realized it was _actually_ starting to hurt. 

“ _Ow_ , Tommy -- ”

“Take it back!” 

“I take it back,” Newt yelped, surprised that Thomas had actually reacted so intensely. 

Thomas huffed, half-satisfied. “The next time I hear you say that again, I will _spank_ you.” 

Newt very nearly choked on his saliva. He removed his head from the crevice of Thomas’ neck and drew himself back to look at Thomas. 

_I can’t believe he said that._ Taken by surprise, he had to try hard not to immediately conjure up a mental picture of himself slung over Thomas’ lap with his backside in the air –

_Stop. Stop. No. Do not even think about that._

As Newt attempted to rein his thoughts in, Thomas shifted _ever_ so slightly…their hips instantly aligned, and incidentally, so did their crotches.

_Well, fuck._

Seeing Newt dumbly speechless and gaping like a goldfish had Thomas smirking in no time. The shame and solemnity of the previous moments had abruptly vanished, like a veil had been lifted. 

Thomas tilted his head to the side. “What happened to cocky little Newt who was teeming with confidence?” he teased.

Blood rushed up to Newt’s cheeks and ears. 

_Jesus, stop blushing._

Thomas loosed a breathless laugh, and judging by his cheeky expression, it was as if the pain of the bruise had magically been washed away along with the veil. He leaned closer to Newt, the blonde boy’s eyes still wide and heartbeat picking up – and whispered, “ _God_ , you’re responsive.” 

“He’s away at the moment,” Newt said loftily, using insolence to mask his embarrassment. 

“Oh?” Thomas eyebrows shot up, gleeful that Newt was playing along. “May I ask who I’m speaking to, then?” 

“I’m the shy Newt,” Newt decided. “I’m not cheeky like the other one is.” 

Delight danced in Thomas’ hazel eyes and the smirk on his face grew wider. For an outlandish moment, Newt nearly appreciated how Thomas’ bruised cheekbone made him look almost diabolical – how it brought this cheeky, tough boy persona to life. 

“I can’t decide if I like you, or cocky Newt,” Thomas announced, pouring hesitation into his voice. “Would you like to help me decide?”

Newt nodded. “Of course. Would love that,” he said compliantly, which made Thomas’ eyes sparkle with excitement. “I’m the good boy,” Newt added matter-of-factly. He edged closer to Thomas’ ear, and breathed, “I’ll do _anything_ you say.” The promise was laced with challenge and adventure, and was anything _but_ what a good boy would say. 

Thomas inhaled piercingly and ran his large hand over the expanse of Newt’s clothed back, rubbing soothing yet arousing circles. “Anything?”

“Absolutely,” Newt guaranteed in Thomas’ ear. His tongue daringly flicked Thomas’ ear lobe, making the brunette jerk at the contact.

“I don’t know when cocky Newt will come back though,” Newt mumbled as Thomas’ hands travelled lower. “He’s very unpredictable.”

“Well, for the record,” Thomas replied, his hands discretely slipping into the back of Newt’s pants. “I love both of you equally. But I _might_ just have a _little_ bit more fun with shy Newt.” 

Any trace of clever reply escaped through Newt’s grasp as he felt loving fingers slide into the back of his boxers.

“What happened to waiting?” he gasped, goosebumps rising up all over his skin at the intimate, sensual touch.

 _Shit. Shouldn’t have said that. He might bloody stop now._

“Thought you’d do anything I say,” Thomas replied, his voice husky and dripping in lust.

Newt practically sagged with relief upon knowing Thomas wasn’t going to stop. That was good enough for him. Pushing all thoughts of waiting aside, his heart danced jovially at the prospect of _finally_ being able to – 

The fingers caressing his sensitive skin disappeared, and Newt whimpered pathetically. Before he could order Thomas to resume, the brunette unleashed a complaint of his own.

“Why do you always have to wear such _tight_ jeans?” he asked, half exasperated as his fingers worked to unbutton Newt’s trousers.

“Because you like how my ass looks in them,” the older boy answered triumphantly. Thomas’ soft laugh implied that he did, indeed.

_It’s just a button. What’s taking so long?_

Tottering on the verge of impatience, Newt rolled his hips right into Thomas’. A delicious groan tumbled from the brunette’s lips; the sound spurring Newt on. 

He knitted his fingers through Thomas’ hair, relishing the feeling of his lover’s clothed arousal strained against his. 

“Hello, cocky Newt.” Thomas finally ripped the button open, then yanked down the jeans as fast as he could without hurting him. 

“Down,” he rasped authoritatively. The order was immediately obeyed as Newt scrambled to lie down on the bed. Seeing Thomas lose control like this…this was what he could get high on. This is what he was willing to replay in his mind for every waking moment.

Feasting on the sight of Thomas lovingly and hungrily looking down at himself, Newt had never before felt so certain in his life. Certain that there was love in the hooded liquid gold eyes that so gently held his gaze. Certain that, aside from the immense _want_ , there was also immense tenderness etched upon those delectable, swollen pink lips. Certain that even in the midst of being ravenous, dishevelled, and completely sex-starved, Thomas would never hurt him, and would handle each and every square inch of his body and soul with extreme care and caution. 

Newt was utterly certain that he was thoroughly, undisputedly and irrevocably in love with this brown-hair, hazel-eyed, inky-skinned boy. He raked his eyes up and down the entirety of Thomas, and in that moment, _Gods above_ , he was _so sure_ that Thomas was made for him. 

It was like Thomas could see the wheels spinning in Newt’s mind. His golden eyes softened as he lowered himself to cup Newt’s face, a lenient and devoted gesture, then pressed his lips to his lover’s. It was a question, a tentative thing: _Do you want this? Is this okay?_ Newt answered without hesitation, kissing back like his life depended on it.

Unlike the desperate rutting motions of their hips several moments ago, this kiss they shared was gentle. It was mild, but reassuring, and deeply affectionate in all the ways that Newt could possibly perceive. It was them promising each other that their love was _there_ , that it was real. 

As Thomas finally drew away, Newt saw the certainty reflected in his eyes, clear as day, along with the desire that blew his pupils wide. His chest was heaving up and down, as if he was having difficulty breathing. If Thomas was half as riled up as Newt was, it would be no surprise that his respiratory tracts happened to refuse to work. 

Upon the beautiful, sinful sight, Newt’s mind sent signals of _get the fuck up_ to his groin. If he wasn’t so turned on and so in love, he would have felt embarrassed that just a few touches could get him so hard. 

Thomas fared no better. He was still fully clothed, but the way he so needily pressed his hips against Newt’s told the older boy that he, too, needed this as much as Newt did. It was still commendable anyways; he had waited for almost a month before letting his desires get the better of him. 

And Newt wouldn’t have it any other way. Thomas had wanted it to be special, and this was nothing short of it. Here, after revelation of Alby’s ridiculous doings, both of them confused and slightly hurt, there would be no better remedy. 

Newt didn’t remember tearing Thomas’ shirt off, or yanking his pants down. He didn’t remember where or when he discarded his own underwear, but he did recall the _acute craving_ that pulsed violently through his blood with every breath he took.

He remembered the static that had streaked down his spine to the tips of his toes when Thomas’ silk-wrapped iron brushed against his own.

He remembered the shameful sounds that had so uncontrollably escaped him when Thomas flicked a thumb over the head, spreading the wetness that was already pooling there. 

He remembered blushing furiously when Thomas whispered ungodly things in his ear, then marvelling at how he still had blood _left_ to colour his cheeks when he was _positive_ all of the blood had already rushed south to the point where it was slightly painful. 

He remembered so willingly yielding to Thomas’ buttery touch. He remembered the moment Thomas’ hand started moving up and down rhythmically, and how his heart had thrashed reactively in his chest cavity, threatening to jump right out. 

He remembered how Thomas was peppering him with kisses and swallowing the desperate, mindless mewls that forced their way out from between his lips. And by God, he didn’t want to, but he remembered what it felt like to be dangerously close just after even less than a minute of contact – he was begging Thomas to stop, clinging onto any remnant of willpower that was left, to not let his body go over the edge – because if he let go, then it would be over. 

He remembered how much he wanted to touch Thomas, to reciprocate, to draw out the noises that he himself was making from the brunette’s lips, but Thomas never once let his hands wander where they wanted to be. With one hand, he held them pinned above Newt’s head, and with the other, he worked his magic and pushed Newt closer and closer to mind-blowing bliss. He had to hold his breath to keep himself together. 

He remembered telling himself _hold it back, don’t you dare_ , then Thomas letting go, and the brief, overwhelming relief and triumph that followed. He remembered the path of earnest, blistering kisses his hazel-eyed lover traced down his neck, chest and torso…

And he could never forget the moment he took all of him into his mouth. He wasn’t even conscious enough to realize that that _sound_ had in fact, come from himself. A sound so frenzied that he didn’t even know he could make. The tidal wave of pleasure crashed over him like a tsunami that racked his existence, and he tried but failed to make his hips stay on the bed. He remembered how _difficult_ it was not to thrust up into Thomas’ warm, welcoming mouth, but the sheer _pleasure_ robbed his brain of any function it originally held. 

It was hazy after that. He tried to remember the way Thomas’ tongue moved against his flesh, how he sucked and licked, but all he could register was blinding pleasure. He didn’t know how his heart was still staying in his chest, but it was beating so fast, hard and loud that he could hear it even amidst the lewd moans and whimpers that were wrung out from his chest. 

He couldn’t wrap his mind around how Thomas was capable of knowing what felt so good, and was able to execute it so flawlessly. His fingers scrabbled to find that last fragment of his self-control, of his willpower to hold on, but it was long gone – behind closed eyelids, all he could remember was fervent gratification, and the inability to piece together a single coherent thought. 

_Fuck fuck fuck._

Newt’s breathing turned shallow as he neared the edge even more, and he was almost surprised at how he didn’t go hurtling over. Then Thomas did that _thing_ with his tongue, and _bloody fuck_ – 

“Tommy!” Newt gasped. “Tommy, Tommy--”

He chanted Thomas’ name like a mantra, like a prayer, like he was worshipping his own personal angel that descended from the heavens just for him. Right then and there, he didn’t care if everything else around him spontaneously combusted – all he needed was Thomas, and Lord knows, he would follow him anywhere. His blood sang with violent yearning. 

With what Thomas was doing, Newt knew it was a matter of seconds. 

He didn’t remember how his brain so helpfully provided that he was about to come and it hasn’t even been ten minutes – time had lost its place in his universe. He didn’t remember his hips rocking to the rhythm that Thomas’ mouth offered, and he certainly didn’t remember how he had threaded his fingers through Thomas’ hair and yanked desperately, stripped of his ability to speak at all, unable to form a warning. He was strung tight like a bowstring, and Thomas was pulling, pulling and pulling, testing his limit – 

What he did remember was the moment he snapped. For some reason, he had _opened his eyes_ , and that was the fatal mistake that sent him freefalling over the edge. The instant they beheld the sight of Thomas between his legs, completely and utterly _his_ , lascivious yet divine at the same time – 

He climaxed, longer and harder than he ever had, crying out in a way that he never would have expected. His fingers dug deeper into Thomas’ brown hair. It was the only thing that was tethering him onto this earth amid the tornado that had snatched his breath, vision and conscience away. The ecstasy slammed into him as he reached the crest, wave after wave of staggering bliss that shook him to his core, his overpowering love for Thomas spilling out over and over again. He remembered Thomas lapping it up enthusiastically, savouring the taste of Newt on his tongue like nectar and ambrosia. 

Even when he slowly began to dismount from his high, his heart never stopped thundering, and his breath was still coming in pants. He remembered how Thomas moved up, smiling contentedly, pride and love and pure happiness radiating on his face, and Newt felt so _happy_ he could have started crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some people wanted semi-mature, but some people wanted full-on explicit. This is the middle ground that I tried to achieve -- I tried not to make it too graphic but at the same time keep it sentimental but sexy. It was challenging, but I hope you enjoyed :3  
> (If you didn't, I'm really sorry)
> 
> Please comment and kudos xxx Thank you!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first date.

All Newt could comprehend was the nebulous pleasure that took over his body, pushing it deep into the afterglow. It felt like floating and drowning at the same time; floating because of the physical fulfilment, and drowning because of the amount of joy and love he was saturated in.

For sure, he had given and gotten his fair share of blowjobs in high school, but none of his experiences even came remotely close to this one. He was so fully spent that he actually had to pay an effort to keep his drooping eyelids open. And when Thomas wove his fingers through his hair and started stroking it, Newt could do nothing to stop himself from turning into putty in Thomas’ hands.

“You’re like a cat,” Thomas chuckled, lovingly petting the blonde. 

Newt didn’t even have the strength to conjure a clever retort. He made a small, content noise and arched into Thomas’ soothing touch, practically purring.

Then it hit him like a brick in the face. _He should be feeling like this too._

“Tommy, let me,” he stated, forcing himself out of the post-orgasmic haze. _How bloody selfish of me._

Thomas laughed and further secured his arms around Newt, refusing to let the older boy elude his embrace. “Not a chance. You’re so finished, you’re shaking.” Newt could hear the amused smirk in his voice.

“No I’m not!” he protested, shoving Thomas away only half-playfully and getting to his knees. “By the time I’m done with you, _you’ll_ be shaking.” Newt could only hope he said that in a sexy way.

Judging by how Thomas had the impertinence to laugh, it didn’t exactly come across that way. Something like indignation flashed through Newt’s mind, and with a determined growl, he tackled Thomas onto the bed.

It had not taken even a full minute for the smirk to be wiped off Thomas’ face and the room to be filled with his lewd noises. 

It was Newt’s turn to smirk as he left vicious kisses over every inch of heated skin he could reach.

A promise that Thomas would indeed be the one left shaking in the sheets.

* * *

Shortly speaking, Newt fulfilled that promise. 

Albeit shocked, he was absolutely delighted that Thomas had lasted an even shorter time than him. The British kink thing had merely been a joke – but it turned out that he had been stunningly accurate. 

The realization had momentarily turned into obscene glee when Thomas gasped for Newt to shut up the moment he murmured into his ear. After taking in how Thomas had reacted physically, it only took the Brit a second to discern that his accent and indecent whispers were undoing Thomas much faster than the brunette was used to. 

He was irrefutably sure that the scene of Thomas helplessly writhing under his touch and whimpering _stop fucking talking_ would be burned in the back of his mind for a lifetime.

And _bloody hell_ , the boy was _loud._ Newt had actually considered shushing him when he peaked, in fear of their neighbours being able to hear. But he hadn’t done so; he would never do something capable of making Thomas’ first time with him any less enjoyable. 

“I _told_ you you’d be the one shaking,” Newt said matter-of-factly as Thomas lay limp, utterly worn out, eyes closed.

He let out a shaky laugh. “Shut up.” The protest was so weak that Newt found it endearing. 

Newt smirked, feeling immensely proud of himself. “Oh, I’d rather not,” he said as he cleaned Thomas up with a towel. “You should have seen your _face_ when I said--”

“Okay, I was there, I don’t need an instant replay, thank you,” Thomas interrupted, shy and a little ashamed at how he had so unreservedly relented to Newt. 

Only a little smug and a lot adoring, Newt nestled up against Thomas, content to only listen to the boy’s still-fierce heartbeat. 

That night, they both dreamed of loving eyes and happiness.

* * *

“Oh my God, the room smells like sex.” 

Newt jerked awake at the loud exclamation, his head spinning to acclimatize himself. 

As dregs of slumber left his eyes, he registered his Korean friend standing in the doorway, a huge smirk slung across his face.

He could feel his face getting hot before he felt the actual embarrassment settle in. This was _not_ how he imagined the morning after. Not that they actually had sex, but still.

“Minho,” Thomas groaned, still concealed by the covers. “Leave.” 

“Hey, this is _my_ room! How ‘bout _you_ leave?” Minho complained childishly.

In spite of the shame, Newt couldn’t help but laugh. 

Thomas grumbled in response and tugged at Newt, a silent request for Newt to rejoin him in sleep. 

“Go...do Teresa or something,” Newt suggested as he surrendered to Thomas’ pulls. The younger boy made a sound of agreement and amusement. 

Minho shrugged. “Already did. You guys are just lazybones. It’s almost noon.” 

“Don’t you have work?” Newt tried again, running out of excuses to get Minho out of the room. 

A brief pause. “Doesn’t Thomas have work?” Minho pointed out. 

“Shit.” Thomas was shrugging on his boxers and shirt under the covers before the sentence even fully left Minho’s mouth. He nearly tripped on his way to the bathroom. 

The loss of heat and comfort from Newt’s side upset him more than he would have liked to admit. “Great. Thanks, Min,” he glowered. 

Minho only beamed at him.

* * *

The end of semester rolled around. Halloween decorations were switched out for Christmas ones, and even in late November, Newt had already begun to feel excited for winter break. 

Things were going extremely well with Thomas – even though they hadn’t officially talked about what they were or labelled themselves as a couple, Newt referring to Thomas as ‘my boyfriend’ often slipped out, and judging by the way Thomas radiated with satisfaction whenever he said it, the older boy knew that he was more than fine with what they were.

On top of that, gathering from how many ‘I love you’s were exchanged, Newt had not a single doubt that they were anything less than together. 

Which was why he didn’t know why he had felt so surprised and shocked when Thomas asked him to come home with him. 

Before that, Thomas had asked him if he was excited. He didn’t know what was to be excited about, until the hazel-eyed boy said “Thanksgiving” like it was the most obvious thing on Earth.

“Oh,” he had said. “Well, it’s a very…American holiday, so we don’t exactly celebrate it.” 

“Oh!” Thomas had echoed, seemingly confounded by this revelation. “Yeah, of course, sorry.” 

They had sat in silence for a while, Newt frowning when it dawned on him that all his friends would be going home for thanksgiving. 

Thomas had been the one to speak again first. “Do you want to come home with me then?” 

Newt had looked up with wide eyes, flattered and astonished at the invitation. “For Thanksgiving?” he asked, not believing his ears. 

“Yeah,” Thomas had said, looking at him with a small smile and eyes filled with intensity. “Since you won’t be flying back.” 

Now, Newt couldn’t help but to blink at Thomas. “It’s – well, I mean – it’s a family…I wouldn’t want to intrude or anything.” He paused, not entirely sure how to feel about the situation.

“Newt,” Thomas said, in a slightly firmer tone. “I want you to meet my mom.” 

The blonde was rendered speechless and because he wasn’t good with words, he had no idea how to start expressing how touched he was. 

“We haven’t even been on a date.” 

_Oh my God, this is what you decide to say instead?_

Thomas’ eyebrows rose in amusement and he laughed. “So if I take you on a date, will you come home with me?” 

Newt smiled and shrugged. “Depends on how good the date is, I guess.” He didn’t know why he was still playing hard to get. Even a blind person would be able to see how head over heels he was for Thomas. 

Being the good sport he was, Thomas only laughed again, and stood up, nodding decisively. “Alright then. A date it is.” 

Newt’s heart lurched in his chest. _Finally._ He tried to look nonchalant as he nodded despite his grin.

“I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow night.” 

“Can’t wait.”

* * *

“Why are you smiling like that?” Minho queried, looking sideways at his friend curiously.

“Smiling like what? I’m not smiling.” Newt immediately wiped the silly lovestruck smirk off his face. He could only imagine where Thomas was taking him. 

The Korean huffed. “Is Thomas finally taking you on a date?” 

_Shit, he’s good. I must be an open book._

“No, you’re not all that open. I’m just good at reading you,” Minho said triumphantly, once again guessing what was going on inside of Newt’s mind.

Newt made a non-committal noise and went back to his book. 

“Where’s he taking you?” 

“Dunno. Wouldn’t tell me.”

He could almost hear Minho roll his eyes. “As long as you guys don’t come back here after your date, I’m okay.”

A blush coloured Newt’s cheeks as he recalled the few times Minho had complained the room ‘smelled like sex’. To his credit, Minho had never gone further than that; but Newt knew that him and Thomas should probably keep it in their pants for the time being, at least in Newt and Minho’s room. 

“Don’t worry, we won’t push it,” Newt muttered. 

He jiggled his leg in anticipation and checked his watch again. 5:57. Three minutes to go. 

“You know, for a couple that’s been together for like a month, you’re weirdly nervous,” Minho pointed out.

_You have no idea._ He wasn’t going to admit that Thomas’ crooked smile still made him weak in the knees.

“Am I?” he answered breezily. He surveyed his brown suede jacket and skinny jeans in his mirror, silently contemplating whether he looked good enough. 

“ _Yes._ You weren’t even this nervous with the other one.” 

Before he could even question Minho’s referral to Alby as ‘the other one’, a knock sounded at the door.

He didn’t even try to justify the happy dance his heart did as he rose from the bed, itching with anticipation and excitement. He hadn’t expected Thomas to actually come to his door.

With several strides, he reached the it and tried not to yank it open eagerly. When he finally did open it, Thomas was standing there, his hair done even better than usual, and looking absolutely exquisite wearing a black leather jacket and his signature crooked smile. 

“Hello there,” he said charmingly, leaning against the wall and giving Newt a wink.

Newt nearly melted at the gesture. He would have balked at anyone else doing such a fuckboi move, but Thomas could pull anything off. “Come to pick me up?” he asked, trying to keep his tone even as Thomas gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Couldn’t have you walking down alone,” Thomas muttered against his skin. “You smell nice,” he added as an afterthought. 

Minho’s effort not to make any commentary was appreciated. 

“Thank you,” Newt managed, trying to ignore the tingling in his ear. 

_He actually came to the door. What a gentleman._

“Don’t try anything funny, Thomas,” Minho said sternly with a teasing twinkle in his eye. 

“Don’t worry, dad,” the younger boy replied good-naturedly. “I’ll have him back before curfew.”

As Thomas took Newt’s hand in his and squeezed it, Newt couldn’t help but hope Thomas wouldn’t take him back at all for the night.

* * *

“I ditched the motorcycle tonight,” Thomas said as he saw Newt scanning the area for his usual bike. “Didn’t really…fit my purposes.” 

The brown-eyed boy was still trying to piece together what Thomas meant when he guided him to a matte black pickup truck.

Newt let out a low whistle. “Nice,” he admitted, raising his eyebrows at Thomas. “Did you steal a car to take me on a date?” His heart did another stupid flutter as Thomas opened the passenger seat door for him.

“Something like that,” Thomas said cheekily as he climbed onto the driver’s seat. “You know I’m desperate to impress you.” Then he actually _leaned over_ and _fastened_ Newt’s seat belt for him. 

_It’s been like five minutes and I’m already sure this is the best date I’ve ever been on._

Thomas and Newt kept up small talk between them for the entirety of the ten minute-drive. Newt had more sense than to ask where they were going again – he’d gave up after asking once and receiving the answer ‘you’ll see’. 

They reached a winding dirt path almost concealed by trees and Thomas drove up onto it, following the bends and turns. “We’re almost there,” he declared, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

_A sign of nerves. Interesting._

Newt only hummed in response, letting Thomas focus on his driving. Upon knowing that their destination was close, he found it hard to stay still, trying to crane his neck to see past the mass of trees.

Thomas reversed the car and backed up into a clearing near the edge of the mountain, parking until he slowed to a spot.

_Where the heck…_

“Before you ask any questions,” Thomas said, reaching over and unbuckling Newt’s seat belt. He produced a small bandana from his pocket and tied it around Newt’s eyes.

“Hey—”

“Shh. Give me five minutes. No peeking.” With that said, Newt felt Thomas exit the car and slam the door shut.

_Well, this could be kinky,_ he mused, twiddling his fingers anxiously as he heard Thomas rummaging in the back of the truck. 

“Tommy?” 

“Five minutes, Newt!” Thomas called back. 

After what felt like an eternity, Newt felt the car door open from his side and Thomas’ strong hands grip his waist. He lifted him off the passenger seat like he weighed nothing.

“Tommy!” He yelped, batting his hands blindly at the brunette to put him down.

“Oh come on, you secretly enjoy this,” Thomas said, the smile evident in his voice. He kissed the top of Newt’s blonde mop and the older boy couldn’t help but shake his head and smile, silently admitting it. 

Thomas set him down on the ground after a few steps.

“Can I look now?” 

“Mhmm.” As soon as Thomas gave the green light, Newt tore the blindfold off –

And in front of him lay a dazzling cityscape, shrunk down to the size of Legos. Newt had never looked at the city from so high up. Despite feeling overwhelmed by the height, the view took his breath away – he never realized that the place he resided in was so majestic. Each building and structure was twinkling with light, and because they were so high up, he could see the stars above as well.

“Tommy, it’s beautiful,” he breathed, unable to avert his gaze off of the landscape. “How’d you find this place?” 

“I was on a run,” Thomas said, peering at Newt to gauge his reaction. “When I saw it, I knew I had to bring you here.”

Newt finally tore his eyes away from the view and looked at Thomas. “I love it.” Just as he was leaning in to initiate a kiss, Thomas ducked away, earning himself a puzzled frown from Newt. 

“Save the making out for later,” Thomas said hurriedly as he guided Newt a few paces back to the truck. Newt realized why once he saw the back of the pickup truck lined with pillows and blankets. 

“Oh my God,” he chuckled. “I never knew you were such a romantic.” He wasted no time in clambering onto the back of the truck, and was amazed to find that the surface he sat on was soft. 

“Did you…is this a _mattress?_ ” 

Thomas scratched the back of his neck. “Thought it’d be comfier.” 

Newt’s throat closed up with gratitude for Thomas’ thoughtfulness. The thanks he was about to offer was cut short when a basket near the pillows caught his eye.

_No. Is that…?_

He crawled over to it and peered inside – and indeed, his suspicions were confirmed. There was wine inside, as well as glasses, and a box of chocolate-covered strawberries.

_This is so cliché but bloody hell, it’s also the most romantic thing ever._

“Tommy,” Newt said in awe. “This is straight out of a Nicholas Sparks book.”

He didn’t catch Thomas’ face as the brunette made his way to the backseat of the truck. “I have something for you,” he explained. Shortly, he emerged from the door…with a bouquet of bluebells in his hands.

_Oh, Tommy._

Newt’s heart lurched and he couldn’t swallow the smile that fought its way onto his lips. 

For the first time of the night, Thomas actually looked nervous as he held out the bouquet shyly to Newt. “Couldn’t have a first date without flowers.” 

“No one’s ever given me flowers before,” Newt said, internally swooning at such a romantic gesture. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

Thomas looked relieved as Newt took the bouquet from him. “Not too cliché?” 

“I think we’ve been past that already,” Newt laughed airily, patting the spot next to him to ask Thomas to join. “First date at a beautiful lookout spot? A picnic, with chocolate-covered strawberries, no less, in the back of a pickup truck? Ticks all the boxes for cliché.”

Thomas shrugged as he disappeared in the backseat again.

_What now?_

“I do have actual food, you know.” He re-emerged, carrying two pizza boxes. “One pepperoni and mushroom, and one Hawaiian.” 

_That’s exactly what we had the first time we hung out._

Judging by the smile on Thomas’ face, Newt knew that the choice of pizza had not been random or coincidental. 

Once again, Newt found himself at a loss for words regarding the careful thought Thomas had put into all of this. 

“C’mere,” he said softly, beckoning for Thomas to come to his side. The younger boy set the pizzas on top of the truck and climbed up next to Newt.

“You,” he whispered, before pecking the tip of Thomas’ nose. “Are unbelievably perfect.” 

Thomas smiled and joined Newt’s lips with his, and when he drew away, there was nothing Newt could do to stop himself from chasing Thomas’ lips. 

“Wait, wait,” Thomas muttered, fumbling to pull his phone out and to hit some buttons. 

Newt frowned in disapproval, aching to resume kissing Thomas senseless. 

After a few seconds of tapping, Kodaline started streaming from the speakers of Thomas’ phone. A look of satisfaction settled onto Thomas’ face as he chucked his phone aside, prowling towards Newt again.

“God, you really are turning into Nicholas Sparks. This is so cliché,” Newt giggled, yanking Thomas closer to him to diminish the distance. 

He knew the pizza would probably get cold, but there was no way his bursting heart was going to allow him to stop kissing Thomas. There were more important matters at hand, like biting Thomas’ delectable lips and tracing his tattoos. Food could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated xx


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More dates and first tattoo.

Why wouldn’t Thomas just _fricking kiss him?_ Newt lunged on top of the brunette again, attacking his neck in messy, open-mouthed kisses. His advance made the truck shake slightly.

Thomas made an amused noise at the back of his throat and gently pushed Newt off of him. “Babe, stop,” he chuckled. “You’ve had _way_ too much to drink.” 

Newt pulled away, blinking. “What did you say?” he asked, buzzed with the one bottle of white wine he had single-handedly vanquished. 

“I said,” Thomas said, pulling Newt onto his lap and stroking his hair, “that you’ve had too much to drink.”

The manoeuvre that would have normally made Newt melt didn’t work this time. He scrambled up and frowned at Thomas, shying away before his hypnotizing touch could lull him into sleep. “No, no. Before that.”

“I told you to stop,” Thomas recalled, brows creased in confusion. “What?”

Newt blinked again, shaking his head. “Not that,” he said, slightly whiny under the influence of alcohol. 

“Then what?” 

_Ah. I remember._ His eyes cleared up and he beamed at Thomas. 

“You called me _babe_ ,” he recollected happily, booping Thomas on the nose. “I _like_ that.”

Thomas burst into laughter and shook his head. “Oh my God, you’re so cute,” he crooned, letting Newt’s lips reattach themselves onto his neck. 

“You like it when I call you babe?” he murmured into the mess of blonde hair.

Newt hummed approvingly and started pushing his hips against Thomas’ thigh. “Tommy?”

Thomas sucked in a breath as he felt Newt’s semi-hardness against him. “Yes, babe?” 

Newt straightened up and looked wholeheartedly into Thomas’ eyes. His usual chocolate eyes were a shade darker, shining with exhilaration and traces of intoxication. With pupils blown wide and coloured cheeks, Thomas had never seen anything more appealing. 

“Please fuck me.” 

Thomas’ eyebrows shot upwards and he nearly choked on air at how innocently and sincerely Newt had requested such a sinful thing. He laughed again, squeezing his lover’s waist. “Newt,” he reprimanded gently. “You’re drunk.” 

Newt shook his head, kneeling up with Thomas’ leg between his. “But you can still fuck me,” he insisted, eyes expectantly and guiltlessly wide. Even in this hazy state, the blonde didn’t miss how his Tommy’s bulge twitched against his knee. 

Thomas smiled, but adamantly shook his head. “I want you to actually remember our first time, baby.” His caress along Newt’s jaw was impossibly gentle. 

Totally beside himself, Newt actually let out a whine, and slid down, covering Thomas’ body with his own. 

_Tommy’s not taking me. This will simply not do._

He spotted the neglected bottle of Riesling lying among the pillows and snatched it up, taking a swig directly from the bottle. 

_Change of tactics._

Like a cat, he innocently licked the rim of the bottle, then placed it between his lips, sucking softly. “Mmm.” 

Had it not been for the fractional tightening of his fingers on Newt’s waist, Thomas would have fooled Newt with the mildly entertained mask on his face. 

“D’you want some?” he drawled seductively, sloshing the last little bit of wine in the bottle around in a suggestive way.

Eyebrows raised. “I don’t drink, babe.” Eyes darted to the bottle. The quick bob of Thomas’ Adam’s apple was all it took for Newt to hear the underlying _yes, please_. 

Newt grinned boyishly and shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He threw his head back and downed the rest of the wine, yet refrained from swallowing. With a close-lipped smile and his mouth almost full of the crisp, aromatic liquid, he slinked forward, bending down to meet Thomas’ lips.

The younger boy’s breath hitched as the gap between them finally closed. As soon as Thomas’ lips parted, Newt’s did too, allowing the brunette to finally taste the sweet wine.

It was an orderly chaos of clashing tongue and teeth, intense and hot, messy in every way Newt would never have associated with Thomas’ carefulness. 

White wine dribbled down the corners of both mouths but neither boy could care less. They licked and sucked and when Newt gradually retreated for air, the flowing gold in Thomas’ eyes had turned into fire. 

“That’s twice now,” he growled breathlessly. 

_Twice that I’ve broken his sobriety._

The liquid courage pumping through Newt’s veins robbed him of any ability to feel shame. He smiled cheekily, shrugging as if to say ‘so?’. 

“I might have to put you on a leash,” Thomas whispered. In an instant, his hands were already working Newt into bliss before the older boy could conjure up a mental image of Thomas’ threat.

* * *

Both of them had lost all track of time as they gazed up at the faraway stars, limbs entangled. The night air was much chillier than Newt was used to, and he was vastly grateful for the blankets Thomas had brought along. 

“We might have to start making this a regular thing,” he decided, his voice thick with drowsiness and satisfaction. 

“What, getting each other off in the back of a truck or stargazing naked?” Thomas asked teasingly.

Newt huffed and elbowed Thomas weakly. He couldn’t quite believe that he still wasn’t able to get Thomas to make love to him – that boy’s self-control was seriously much stronger than Newt gave him credit for – but he was sure there were going to be other opportunities. He swallowed his thoughts and answered the brunette’s question. “Going on dates.” 

He could feel Thomas’ smile on the top of his head. “Dates will be regular, then. I’m glad you liked our first one.” The small circles he was tracing on Newt’s bare shoulder were mesmerizingly making him doze off. 

“Loved it,” he affirmed.

“Does that mean you’ll come home with me?” 

“Yes.”

A sigh of relief and a chaste kiss on Newt’s hair. 

“Also…” 

“Hmm?” 

Newt bit his lip, wondering if now was a good time. 

He decided it was.

“I want you to do it,” he said quietly, tapping the side of his ring finger, exactly where Thomas had envisioned their bluebell tattoo to be.

Thomas’ eyes widened and he sat up abruptly. He opened his mouth, at a loss for words, then shut it again. Judging by his reaction, Newt knew that Thomas realized what his request entailed. He shook his head. 

“Newt. You don’t have to. It was…it was just a stupid idea.” 

Newt cut him off firmly. “Tommy, I want to. I’ve wanted to, the second I saw it.” 

Thomas’ brows furrowed and he laid a hand on Newt’s forearm, gripping tightly. “You might regret it.” 

“Why are you trying to talk me out of this? I love you; it’s that simple. It _should be_ that simple. And you bloody well know, it hasn’t been easy for us from the start, but now it is. So while it still is…please, Tommy.” 

Fondness and intimacy softened Thomas’ eyes. Newt watched as wheels spun in the brunette’s head. “You really might regret it. It never comes off. This is a big decision, Newt, and I’m telling you, a tattoo is permanent.” 

If the topic had not been so serious, Newt would have laughed at the irony of the situation. Thomas, a keenly tattooed tattoo artist, warning Newt about how bad a tattoo was. 

His eyes travelled to Thomas’ shoulders, chest and half-sleeve, making a point of drinking in all of his tattoos. Then he reached Thomas’ eyes and raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Tommy. I hear you.” 

Thomas laughed and shook his head. “I don’t want to…contaminate you.” His touch on Newt’s arm had grown extremely gentle. 

Newt sighed. “That’s like me saying I don’t deserve you. Besides, permanent is…kind of the whole point.” 

Thomas’ gaze was swimming with emotion as he met Newt’s. “Are you sure?” 

He nodded once in reply: quick, firm and absolutely certain.

Thomas’ bottom lip quivered the tiniest bit and he immediately caught it between his teeth. “I never thought…” Before he could finish his sentence, he enveloped Newt into a fierce hug, burying his face into the crook of the Brit’s neck. 

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly. “Thank you thank you thank you.” 

Newt returned the fierce embrace with a smile, his heart swelling with affection. “For what, you dumb shank?” 

“For letting me love you.” 

Newt didn’t know who let the tears brawl their way out of his eyes.

* * *

Thomas had kept his promise. Much to Newt’s delight, the dates became regular, and there was no guessing where Thomas would take him next. Whenever they didn’t have classes, and sometimes even when they did, Thomas would whisk him off his feet to go on dates – to the movies; to the arcade, where they were probably the oldest but most possibly the most childish, to their lookout spot (as per Newt’s request); to Ikea, where they window shopped for furniture to fill an imaginary house; to art galleries; to have _brunch_ , which Newt had never saw the point of; to play pool; to go on pointless long walks; to go roller blading; even bloody skinny dipping during 1AM on _November night_ , until Newt’s toes had turned blue and he had been _sure_ he had caught hypothermia. Thomas had warmed him up after immediately with a fluffy towel and a thermos full of hot chocolate. 

They had even been on a double date with Minho and Teresa, who was not as bad as Newt had made her out to be.

Shortly speaking, life was good. Thomas made life good. 

And he hadn’t had a panic attack in _weeks_. 

To add to it, Thomas had gradually broken his sobriety, but only on date nights – he limited himself to one glass of wine every time Newt drank, and Newt absolutely loved the light that filled Thomas’ eyes when he had loosened up. 

Just as Newt was wondering if Thomas would ever run out of date ideas, the brunette piped up with something that surprised Newt. “Does your request still stand?”

Newt looked up from his laptop with wide eyes. “Of course.”

Thomas chewed the inside of his cheek and looked at Newt, tilting his head and contemplating. After a minute or so of staring and thinking, he jumped up and held out his hand. “We’re going to WCKD.”

Although taken by surprise, Newt instantly scrambled to his feet and slammed his laptop shut, taking Thomas’ hand and gripping it tight in fear that the other boy would change his mind. 

Together they made their way to the tattoo parlour where Thomas worked, Newt’s heart beating a million a minute in exhilaration. 

Thomas shrugged off his jacket, flinging it onto the counter. He then rolled up his sleeves and patted the leather tattoo bed next to what Newt assumed was his work station, signalling for the older boy to sit on it.

“Hey, Thomas,” Vince, the older owner of WCKD, greeted.

Thomas saluted him briefly before resuming…whatever it was he was doing.

Perched on the tattoo bed, Newt felt Vince survey him from a distance. Just as he was about to greet the man, Thomas spoke up.

“Vince, this is Newt. Newt; Vince, my boss.”

Newt smiled and raised a hand in greeting, watching Vince’s face crack into a wide grin. He had a certain charm to him, and Newt would have found him attractive if he was into the older type of guy. 

“So _you’re_ Newt,” Vince said, his voice coloured with implicit understanding, smiling even wider as his eyes flicked to Thomas. 

Newt felt his stomach clench in excitement and caution. “What has Tommy said about me?” he asked warily. 

Thomas turned on his chair and shot daggers at Vince from his eyes. “ _Nothing._ Not much at least, right Vince?”

Vince laughed and held his hands up in the air, palms facing the boys in surrender. “Right, Thomas.”

A look of brief gratification flitted across Thomas’ face before he turned back to his table. 

Newt rose his eyebrows inquiringly at Vince, smirking at the sandy-haired man. 

He was met with an answering smirk. “Nothing much except for the pining on pretty much a daily basis.”

Newt nearly let a giggle escape his mouth as he blinked in surprise. 

Thomas let his head hit the table with a groan. “Thank you, you can leave now.” 

“Wish Newt would text. Wish Newt _wouldn’t_ text,” Vince added, chuckling.

“Okay!” Thomas yelled. The tips of his ears were visibly turning red as he ran both of his hands through his hair. “We’re done now!” 

Vince laughed louder, then mimed zipping his lips up and throwing away the key. Newt could tell Thomas and him shared a bond of respect and mutual liking, because before he had exited the parlour as he muttered something about privacy, they had exchanged smiles and Vince had shaken his head fondly. 

Newt was feeling bubbly inside. _Thomas had been pining for me. Out loud. At work. I must have quite an effect on him._

“Oh, don’t look so smug,” Thomas said grumpily. “If I give a bad tat, it’s Vince’s fault because he shook me up. Now shut up and sit back.”

With a self-satisfied smile, Newt quietly complied as he watched Thomas fiddle around with the tattoo equipment. There were rows and rows of ink on his desk, as well as intimidating needles and machines and weird-looking little trinkets that Newt had never even seen before in his life. 

_Now I know how he must feel when I’m grafting a plant._

Watching Thomas’ back muscles flex as he snapped on gloves, Newt was in awe at how totally in his element Thomas looked. It was attractive. 

_I hope this is how he feels when I’m doing gardening stuff._

Thomas swivelled around on his chair, eyes filled with excitement yet concern. His mouth opened to ask Newt another question –

“If you ask me _one more time_ whether I’m sure or not, I will bite you,” Newt interjected curtly. 

An amused laugh. “Very threatening, babe.” Newt was glad the question wasn’t voiced, because it definitely didn’t need to be.

“That’s right, humour me,” he replied drily, rolling up his sleeves too.

Thomas took Newt’s had gently in his and took a deep breath. “I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen first,” he said softly. “But I’m going to talk you through it the whole time. Now, I’m not going to lie to you…”

Newt swallowed.

“Finger tattoos do hurt more than others. Your fingers are full of nerves and the skin lays right on the knuckle and bone. There isn’t much fat or muscle to cushion the sensation of the needle, so it’s going to sting.” 

“Okay.”

Thomas peered at Newt. “Still on board?”

Newt shot him a half-playful glare, reminding Thomas of his unwavering certainty. 

Thomas smiled and turned to retrieve something from his desk. “Now, this is the stencil.” Newt recognized it as the bluebell drawing that was identical to the one he had seen in Thomas’ sketchbook.

He frowned. “When’d you make that?”

The rush of colour to Thomas’ cheeks and ears was enough of an answer. “You don’t need to know,” Thomas mumbled.

With a grin, Newt grabbed Thomas’ wrist and softened his eyes. “Tommy.”

“Maybe before we even got together,” he said grudgingly. “Now, this is the —” 

“Aww.”

“This, as I was saying,” Thomas hurried sternly, “is the antibacterial soap that I will use to disinfect your finger before I do anything. Then I’ll put petroleum jelly on your skin to make sure the needle glides across your skin easily throughout the tattoo, and place the stencil over the patch.”

“Okay.” 

“Then I’ll fill in the ink caps and of course, I’ll be using a completely new, sterilized needle on you.” 

“Okay.” 

“And then…it just sort of happens.” 

“Just sort of happens?” Newt repeated, smirking. “Are you to be trusted?”

Thomas raised his eyebrows, feigning being unamused. “You’re in safe hands, babe. I could do this in my sleep.” 

“How long does it take?” 

“Given the size of it, ten, fifteen minutes tops,” Thomas estimated. “Won’t be long.” 

Newt exhaled and extended his hand to Thomas. “Okay, Tommy, ink me up.” 

Thomas took Newt’s hand and he could feel the brunette exhale as well. His heart was thundering with anticipation and nerves and all he could do was hope that Thomas wouldn’t back down.

All the procedures that Thomas talked about were completed, and suddenly it was time – Thomas sat hunched over Newt’s hand, needle poised over his ring finger.

_Finally._

This time, Thomas didn’t ask if Newt was sure. He murmured ‘try to relax’, and that was when Newt felt the pain.

It was…pain. Not unbearable, but it was still pain. Coupled with an annoying, intense vibration like being stung by small bees. 

But it wasn’t the pain that left him breathless. As the bluebell slowly appeared on his skin and took form, Newt couldn’t keep his eyes off of Thomas’ face. His favourite angelic face, creased in concentration, focused and sexy and utterly attentive _for him._

It was over before he could fully register the pain. He kept bracing himself for worse, but it never came. The whirring stopped. 

He raised his hand and flexed his fingers, bringing it closer to examine.

_Bloody hell._

Although it was simple and delicate, the bluebell was extremely beautiful. It wasn’t black like most of the tattoos Thomas had – instead, the narrow stem was brown, with two small green leaves protruding from the bottom, and on top drooped an elegant lone bluebell in blue-violet ink. 

Thomas’ voice jarred Newt from his daze of admiration. “Do you…is it okay?” he asked tentatively.

Newt tried to swallow the lump that had appeared in his throat. 

_Jesus Christ, Tommy has reduced me to a bloody emotional mess._

“It’s perfect,” he replied hoarsely. And it was true – it really was nothing short of flawless. Newt was beyond glad that his first tattoo was from Thomas, and was one _with_ him as well. 

Thomas smiled coyly at Newt, then frowned to inspect the tattoo. He continued to stare at it for a while – picking for non-existent flaws with his sharp artist’s eyes, no doubt – but he straightened up, grinning wider, which told Newt that even Thomas was unable to find any fault in the tattoo.

“It does look rather good.” 

“I think this is the only time I’ve heard you compliment your own art.” 

Thomas shrugged. “It looks good enough to compliment because it’s on you.” 

A million butterflies took flight in Newt’s stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the long-awaited first tattoo! I hope it met your expectations :) Also, I'm thinking maybe 3-5 more chapters until Inflorescence comes to a close. There will still be one-shots, don't worry! Just out of curiosity -- would anyone be interested in beta-ing my next fic? 
> 
> Comment below xx Kudos = love!!!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt meets Thomas' mother at Thanksgiving. (+ fluff!)

Newt had been nervous plenty of times in his life. The first day of kindergarten, for instance. He remembered standing outside of the classroom, holding his mum’s hand and slightly aghast at the overly boisterous crowd of children screaming inside. 

He had also been colossally nervous during his Grade Two piano exam. Washing his hands right before he went in was _not_ a good idea – he remembered panicking when the tips of his fingers were literally frozen. 

Or, his first kiss. _That_ was a time that made him so nervous he thought he would faint. He remembered seductive, rosy-lipped Rachel standing up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his – he had been mortified the whole time, because apparently he hadn’t been clear enough that it was her _brother_ he wanted, not her. That was not a good nervous.

He remembered being nervous before his interview for Maze University, so nervous that he wasn’t able to eat. Nervous when he met the Hollywood Heartthrob-looking Korean called Minho that was going to be his roommate, who looked big enough to throw him out the window. Nervous when he met Thomas for the first time, definitely. 

But nothing that he had been through before was enough to prepare him for how nervous he was going to be in _this_ moment. 

His heart was hammering at a million a minute and he knew his foot was bouncing up and down so vigorously that it had to be annoying. 

It was justified, though – he was meeting Thomas’ mother for the first time, and he couldn’t recall being this skittish in the past, at all.

“Newt,” Thomas said gently, about to reassure his boyfriend for the thousandth time. “It will be fine. Trust me.”

“Mhmm,” Newt hummed, drumming his fingers on the side of his seat restlessly as he watched the trees go by. Thomas had one hand on the steering wheel and Newt’s hand in the other. Normally, any sort of physical contact from Thomas was sufficient to ground Newt from whatever overwhelming thoughts in his head, but today, Newt was nervous past the point of redemption. Even the soothing circles Thomas routinely traced on the back of his hand were of no effect.

“She’s gonna love you.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Newt mumbled. All he could do was pray that Thomas’ mom wouldn’t hate him. Scratch that, all he wanted was not to have an anxiety attack and embarrass Thomas as well as himself.

Time passed much too quickly for his liking, and Thomas soon pulled into his driveway. Newt could feel his heart in his throat, and fruitlessly tried to tell it to settle down as he wove his fingers through his hair again. 

As he was busying himself with helping Thomas unload their suitcases, the front door opened. He didn’t even have the chance to panic about how unready he was when Thomas’ mother came into his peripheral. 

Thomas immediately strode up to her and enveloped her into a hug, the two of them encircled in each other’s arms. Newt’s nerves surprisingly ebbed as he witnessed such a heart-warming sight: the boy he loves so dearly hugging the woman who raised him so right, whom he loved and protected so fiercely.

He swallowed the remnant of his nerves and wheeled both suitcases to the door. Thomas had his cheek against his mother’s hair – which was the exact shade of chestnut that Thomas’ was – and hugging her with a tenderness that Newt had only seen when Thomas was looking at him. 

They broke apart after a brief moment, and Thomas’ mom had tears in her eyes as she turned to Newt. 

“Hi, you must be Newt!” she said with a radiant smile on her face. Newt returned the smile, trying to look respectful yet eager at the same time.

“Yes, I’m Newt. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” He extended his hand to shake hers, but to his surprise, she reached to hug him too. 

He held Thomas’ mother in his embrace, feeling silly that he had been so nervous over meeting such a sweet person. 

“Call me Mary,” she said as she pat his back, drawing away. “And come in, come in. Both of you must be cold. How was the drive here? Are you two hungry?”

Newt glanced at Thomas as if to say, _Wow, she’s nice._

Thomas smiled and shrugged: _I told you._

“Newt hasn’t celebrated Thanksgiving before, so I hope you cooked to impress, Mom,” Thomas said teasingly as he hauled the suitcase up the stairs.

Mary laughed. “Don’t worry Thomas, I won’t embarrass you. I hope you have a big appetite, Newt.” 

“I am a bit peckish after the drive, yeah.” Newt grinned.

Mary paused in her tracks and blinked. “Oh! You mean--”

“Yes, he means hungry,” Thomas intervened, laughing fondly. “It does take getting used to.” 

Newt felt his face flush. “Yeah, sorry, I meant hungry.” 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. It’s nice to have a sense of newness around here.” She winked at Newt, making him feel warm and welcomed inside. “Okay, you boys settle down and I’ll shout when dinner’s ready. Don’t start anything though, I won’t be long.” 

She disappeared into the kitchen before either Newt or Thomas could say anything. More blood rushed up to Newt’s face and he could hardly believe that Thomas’ mom had just made such a comment to their faces.

Turning to Thomas, he knew that the brunette was just as surprised as he was. Looking like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, the only response he made was, “I hope she doesn’t say anything like that during dinner.”

* * *

It was safe to say that the nerves had completely left Newt’s stomach when it was time for dinner. His capacity wouldn’t allow any space for nerves when the smell of deliciousness hit him – hunger and excitement took their place completely. 

The lavish amount of food that was on the table certainly exceeded the appetite of three people. It was all classic all-American Thanksgiving food that Newt had only seen in movies – an actual whole sage-butter roasted turkey; caramelized-onion galette; fluffy mashed potatoes with chives; balsamic roasted carrots and zucchini, red wine, and some divine-smelling casserole that Newt couldn’t wait to taste.

“It smells and looks _amazing_ ,” he praised as he took his seat next to Thomas. 

“You _really_ went all out,” Thomas agreed, nodding approvingly at Mary.

Mary beamed and let her hair down from her ponytail. Newt couldn’t believe how young she looked; if he hadn’t learned about her past from Thomas, he never would have guessed that she had endured such hardships. 

“Well firstly, it’s Thanksgiving; and also, it isn’t every day my son brings his first boyfriend home.” 

Newt cursed his blush reflex and tried to study the ratio of carrot to zucchini in the dish in front of him, caught between smiling shyly and laughing in surprise at how forward Mary was.

She turned to Newt. “He hasn’t brought anyone home, actually. You’d be pleased to know that you’re the first.”

The revelation shocked Newt so much that his embarrassment went away. “ _No._ Seriously?”

Mary smiled and nodded. “A hundred percent.” 

He looked at Thomas seated next to him, trying not to smirk adoringly and croon.

Thomas was suddenly very interested in the carrot to zucchini ratio as well. “Mom, did you make the cranberry sauce yourself? It smells heavenly,” he said brightly, purposefully making a point of not meeting Newt’s eyes.

Mary took the hint and shared a brief, cheeky smile with Newt. “Yes, honey, I did actually. Try it, let me know how it tastes.” 

_I can remember how nervous I felt a few hours ago. How ridiculous._

Thomas could not have started eating faster, and Newt took that as cue to dig in as well. 

It turned out, Mary was as lovely a cook as she was a person. The food was the best Newt had had in months – to be fair, all he had been eating was shitty uni food and the unhealthiest fast food, so trumping those two couldn’t be difficult – but the food really did taste outstanding. 

It also didn’t take him long to find out where Thomas had inherited his extremely likeable and sweet personality. Mary was just the same, and as she asked him various questions like what he studied (biochemistry, majoring in botany), how he met Thomas (through a shit-eating grinning mutual friend) and more of such, he didn’t even feel even a trace of anxiety as he expected he would have. 

Halfway through the meal, Mary caught Thomas’ hand that was halfway across the table, reaching for the potatoes. Both alarmed, Newt and Thomas’ heads snapped up and looked at Mary in surprise.

“You didn’t tell me about this one,” Mary exclaimed as she turned her son’s hand sideways in her own, examining the bluebell tattoo on the side of his ring finger.

Newt’s heart froze. _What will she think?_

Thomas laughed sheepishly. “Yeah, I got it only recently.” He tilted his hand to give her a better view of the tattoo that he did on himself.

Newt remembered watching completely awestruck as Thomas did the other bluebell on his left hand _by himself_. It was the most bizarre but impressive thing he had ever seen – he never even knew people could give _themselves_ tattoos. 

Thomas had insisted on doing it himself; he said anyone else doing it would rob it of the intimacy it should entail. 

“It’s different,” Mary said, peering at it and fingering it gently. “Beautiful.” She released his hand and smiled at Newt. “I’m guessing you have a similar one?” 

Newt ducked his head and smiled, offering his own hand. “I do.”

“ _Very_ nice,” she said appreciatively. She cocked her head and continued to explain, “he tells me about each tattoo he gets.”

Newt’s heart swelled in fondness at the bond between the Thomas and his mom. 

“And I rate them,” she added light-heartedly.

Newt’s eyebrows raised, and he felt his nerves return for the first time. “I hope this one makes the cut then,” he commented lightly, smiling. 

Mary nodded. “It’s lovely. It softens him up,” she said gently, nudging her chin in Thomas’ direction. “He would never have gone for something close to this before. It’s a good change.”

Newt could have burst with pride. From what he had heard, he had taken more of Thomas’ firsts than he knew of. And he was more than alright with that.

* * *

Thomas had sent Newt upstairs to shower after the two of them finished wrapping up the leftovers and doing the dishes. Thomas and Mary were seated in the living room, talking quietly as Newt trekked up the stairs, half dazed in a food coma. Feeling fully content and slightly drowsy, Newt took his time showering and didn’t get out until he heard the door to Thomas’ room close.

Wiping his hair hastily with a smaller towel, he wrapped a bigger one around his waist and emerged from the bathroom, eager to have some fun with Thomas, AKA to devour him like he devoured that pumpkin pie – 

To find the bedroom empty. He scanned it twice, confused – 

And spotted the silhouette on the balcony, hunched over the railing. 

He padded over to where Thomas was standing, trying not to wince as the harsh night air bit into his bare skin. “Tommy,” he said softly, laying a hand on the small of the younger boy’s back. 

As Thomas came into full view, Newt realised that he was holding a cigarette between his fingers. It was still lit, and half-smoked. Newt looked up at him, startled. His blood ran cold the way it did that night in the Glade, when he saw Thomas drinking. 

_I didn’t know he smoked._

“Sorry,” Thomas mumbled, extinguishing the cigarette against the railing as soon as Newt appeared. “I don’t usually. I wouldn’t if I didn’t need it.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked gently, craning to get a better look at Thomas’ face. “Hey, Tommy, tell me what’s wrong.”

Thomas didn’t answer. The silence stretched on far more than Newt deemed as comfortable, and with every second trickling away, his chest further tightened. 

His mind started racing, scrambling to find any indicators that _something_ had gone wrong during the dinner, searching for anything he had done badly to upset the love of his life.

He came up blank, which only made his heart constrict more.

_Don’t push him. Don’t you dare._

He inched closer to Thomas, who was breathing deeply, and it didn’t escape Newt’s notice that his hands were shaking. 

“Tommy,” he whispered. “You’re scaring me.” 

Thomas turned to Newt, and the blonde was terrified and heartbroken to see his eyes glassy. The brunette opened his mouth, and Newt could see the effort he was exerting to explain himself.

Reaching over to the glass table next to them, Newt picked up the packet of cigarettes and the lighter, handing them over to Thomas. 

With trembling fingers, Thomas took the items and clasped a cig between his lips, desperately snapping the lighter to get a flame.

Once.

Twice.

A futile attempt. 

_He’s bloody shaking._

Thrice.

Newt took the lighter out of his lover’s hand gingerly and flicked it on, lighting the cigarette successfully in one go. 

Thomas’ eyes flickered with gratitude as he inhaled tremulously, then puffed out an unsteady cloud.

Patiently, Newt waited as Thomas visibly calmed. He counted to sixty in his mind, and just as he was about to prod Thomas again, the other boy turned to him. 

“She met someone new,” he rasped, leaning against the rail. 

_Oh._ Newt’s heart swooped in relief as he realized it wasn’t something that he had done. 

“She told me when you were showering. They’ve been seeing each other for a little,” Thomas said flatly, staring off into the distance. The cigarette hung languidly between his fingers, and had Newt not been so scared and worried, he would certainly have commented on how remarkably attractive Thomas looked. 

“She’s head over heels in love with him,” he went on in a low voice. “But I’m just – I’m so _scared_ , Newt.” Thomas looked up at Newt, and the fear in the younger boy’s eyes ripped his heart into two. 

“I can’t have another man worse than the last one walk into her life again. I can’t. And I can’t be there to protect her, not when he starts abusing her.” 

He hands started shaking again and he dropped the cigarette. He pushed his fingers through his hair in distress. “She has a taste for that kind of men. She never comes across one that she deserves, and I don’t want to watch her break like that again, I can’t – ”

“Hey. Hey, hey, look at me, love.” Newt made his voice as gentle and as low as possible, looking into Thomas’ reeling eyes to tether him back down to Earth. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll meet him, okay? We’ll make sure he’s a good man.”

Thomas’ breathing slowed, evidently calmed by Newt’s caring caress on his face. 

“We won’t let anyone hurt her again. You won’t have to go through that. The universe won’t screw us over. I won’t let that happen.” 

Thomas eyes fluttered close as he leaned his cheek into Newt’s palm. 

When he opened his eyes again, Newt could find no more panic within the liquid gold – only gratitude, and a newfound calmness. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. 

“I love you,” Newt mumbled in Thomas’ ear. He hoped his hug was ferocious enough to meld back the pieces of the younger boy’s shattered heart.

* * *

They laid in Thomas’ bed talking until the sky turned pink. Neither of them broached the subject that reduced Thomas to tremors previously; instead, they both made a series of confessions to each other. 

Thomas had Newt’s head tucked snugly under his chin, and as he traced aimless patterns on his shoulder, he bit his lip to come up with another confession. 

“I was awake the morning after the party. I knew you were touching me, I just pretended to be asleep.”

Newt squeezed his eyes shut, mortified. They had made it a rule to not respond to the other person’s confessions, and he had to bite his tongue to stop a groan. 

“I went to the Glade earlier than usual the day after I met you, in hope of catching you again.”

Thomas’ chest shook slightly, indicating that he was chuckling.

“No response,” Newt reminded sternly, not wanting Thomas to opine at all. 

“Okay. I deleted your number after I heard about your date slash kiss with Alby. But I had it memorized, so didn’t make much of a difference.”

Newt’s heart seized in blame for hurting him so much.

“Sorry.” 

“No response,” Thomas echoed, squeezing his shoulder. “Your turn.”

“I ripped up the first drawing you left at mine after I caught you snogging Brenda.” 

“I have a playlist on my phone titled Newt and it’s full of Kodaline.” 

_No fucking way. That is adorable._

“I used to wait before texting you because I didn’t want to come off as desperate.”

Newt could tell Thomas was holding in a laugh. 

“I dream about you all the time.”

“I sleep with your sketchbook under my pillow.” 

“I didn’t change my sheets for three weeks after you slept in them for the first time.”

“I like your eyes. They’re the colour of whiskey and chocolate.” 

“I only order Italian BMTs at Subway now because they remind me of you.”

“I felt you kiss my hair when I was sick, sleeping.”

“I think about you when I wank.”

Newt choked on air and leaped up. “ _Tommy!_ ” 

“No response!” Thomas complained, dodging Newt’s hand as it went down to grab at his crotch reprovingly. 

Newt smothered Thomas into the pillows, both of them in fits of giggles. 

“You’re such a loser,” Newt muttered into Thomas’ neck, nipping it affectionately.

“At least I’m honest!” 

Newt propped himself up on his palms and smiled. “I’m honest too. You wanna know a secret?”

Thomas waggled his eyebrows. “Ooh, love to.” 

The blonde lowered himself down, closer to his boyfriend’s lips. 

“I love you.” 

“That’s not a secret, but it’ll do.” 

Happiness bloomed like a flower in Newt's chest. In that moment, he made a promise to himself that he would spend the rest of his waking moments protecting the tattooed boy who was smiling against his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my Lord!! Sorry this took soooo long but thank you for bearing with me and waiting so patiently for an update xx I hope the fluff and development in this chapter make up for the wait! I've been out of town for a bit, not to mention drowning in work once I was back, but now I'm back in the groove and more than ready to finish this up. 
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day :) x muah!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A paint fight and Christmas gifts.

“We had Thanksgiving at your place so it’s only fair that we have Christmas at mine.” 

Thomas nibbled on the end of the paintbrush he was holding at frowned at Newt’s argument. “That’s not fair, you don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving,” he pointed out.

_Shucks. He’s right._

“Well then I guess you’ll just have to choose between me and your mum,” Newt huffed challengingly, propping his feet up on Thomas’ coffee table. 

The brunette peered at his boyfriend over the easel. “You moved. A little to the left,” he muttered, holding up his thumb and positioning it back and forth over Newt and the painting. 

“You know, I wish I could draw _you_ instead.” It was undisputable that Newt had never laid eyes on a more endearing thing than Thomas with one eye clamped shut and a paintbrush between his teeth. “You have no idea how cute you look right now.” 

“Let me,” Thomas began, dipping the brush into more paint. “Tell you.” Careful brush strokes on the canvas. “A secret.” A slight lean back to survey the additions freshly made. 

With an eyebrow raised sceptically, the blonde nodded. “Go ahead then.”

“If anyone other than you called me _cute_.” Thomas made air quotes with his fingers. “I would actually be upset; I kid you not.” 

“Aww.” The affectionate utterance escaped his lips before Newt could even stop himself. “That’s _cute_.”

The other boy rolled his eyes with an exasperated half-smile. “Thanks, Newt.” 

“You do know a lot of girls in the year below are bloody crazy about you, right? According to Minho, you’re…” For dramatic effect, he cleared his throat once. “The _cutest_ sophomore ever!” 

It genuinely took an effort for him not to wince at his own take on the freshmen’s girly gushes. Thomas, on the other hand, went from mildly exasperated to hugely amused in two beats. 

“I _am_ the cutest sophomore ever.” He shrugged matter-of-factly.

Newt’s eyebrow quirked again. “But you _just said_ \--”

“I am to you at least,” Thomas interrupted, winking at Newt subtly. 

The blonde reprimanded himself internally for _still_ letting such a simple gesture turn his insides into mush. Schooling his features into a bored, nonchalant look, he returned Thomas’ previous shrug.

“Debatable,” he replied airily. “I quite like the tall one in my biology course – the fierce-looking one.” 

“ _Gally?_ ” Thomas scoffed. “He has eyebrows like frigging Satan.” 

“But he’s tall. And quite well-built. Very muscular,” Newt pointed out, refusing to let the playful giddiness bubbling under his skin show in his tone. He _liked_ seeing Thomas get jealous, but this was all harmless, unlike incidents with Alby or Brenda.

Plus, all he was saying was true – Gally was indeed tall and strong – but Thomas wasn’t exactly wrong in saying he had Satanic eyebrows. 

The paintbrush, its head dipped in green, laid forgotten on the windowsill as Thomas gaped at his boyfriend in disbelief. “ _Well built?_ ” He repeated incredulously. 

“Affirmative.” Newt shrugged and nodded, swallowing the smile that was fighting to surface. _God, he’s so bloody cute._

“ _I’m_ fucking well built!” the brunette exclaimed indignantly, sounding vaguely like a 5-year-old child throwing a tantrum. All that was missing was the tears and the sulk.  
And cue the sulk. 

“Stomp your foot too, won’t you?” Newt said, delightfully entertained that he held that much power over Thomas. Just two compliments Gally’s way already had him _fuming_. “This is quite childish of you,” he scolded, smirking.

The brief mask of shock only crossed Thomas’ face for an instance, to be replaced by his dangerous signature crooked smile. 

“Do you think I’m childish, Newton?” he asked softly, stepping over the clutter of art supplies on the floor in front of him and slowly approaching Newt like a panther prowling toward its prey.

 _Here we go._

“Quite, Tommy, really,” Newt answered, balancing his attitude between careless and inviting.

The delectable corners of Thomas’ mouth curved upwards more. “That’s a shame,” he pouted, kneeling on the sofa between Newt’s spread legs.

All Newt could do was hope Thomas’ wouldn’t notice his dilated pupils, or hear his pulse and breathing speeding up. 

Any trace of a planned comeback eluded Newt straight away the moment Thomas bent down and caressed his earlobe with his tongue. _Oh, bloody fuck._

It was as if Thomas could sense him opening up and wanting more. He responded by pushing his leg – albeit very gingerly – against Newt’s valuables, eliciting a barely audible whimper from the back of the older boy’s throat. 

His eyes fluttered closed. _Yes please._

Before he could lean forward to capture Thomas’ lips and plead him for more, a dash of coldness ambushed the tip of his nose. His eyes jerked open in surprise, to see Thomas scrambling up from his kneeling position and speedily tiptoeing through the obstacle race of art supplies back towards the canvas, laughing.

“You’re right Newt, I’m very childish!” he sang, cackling with laughter.

What happened, Newt had no idea. Still as puzzled as ever, he cocked his head and brought his finger to the tip of his nose where the splash of cold was resting upon. It was wet and tacky to the touch – and came back _green_.

_He put paint on my nose._

“You cheeky little shit!” Newt accused, scrambling up after his excited boyfriend. How on earth had he not noticed when Thomas had taken the brush from the windowsill? It was befuddling.

As hard as it was to run with a semi, he finally caught up with Thomas, both of them giggling like silly schoolboys. Just as he was about to enclose his hands around Thomas’ waist, the brunette slid away from his grasp – then turned around and splashed _another_ glob of green paint on his cheek.

His draw dropped open in disbelief. “Come here!” he yelled demandingly, no real anger present in his demand. Even an outsider would be able to tell – the two words were laced with happiness. 

Another giggle came his way as he narrowly missed the back of Thomas’ shirt. “You can’t catch me!” Thomas trilled tauntingly. 

Newt pulled his upper lip over his teeth and growled as menacingly as he could through his broad smile. “Don’t be sure.”

Then it caught his eye. There it was, sitting on the floor amongst the assorted tubes of half-exhausted acrylics. 

_Change of plans._

He veered backwards and made a beeline for the paint palette. It had five indents along the side, perfect – and he dipped all 5 of his fingers into each of the hollows.

_Now we’re talking._

Sensing the pause in the chase, Thomas peered over to see what Newt was doing – and it was his turn to widen his eyes in disbelief.

“Oh no. Oh no you don’t!” he said, eyes darting around the room. Assessing which spot would be the safest place to run.

“That’s right Tommy, be scared!” Newt smirked, dipping his other 5 fingers into the palette. _All or nothing._

Miraculously, Newt actually caught up with the brunette as both of them were yet again giggling senselessly. 

“New—”

“Gotcha!” Newt announced triumphantly, clawing his colourful fingers into the back of Thomas’ white shirt. A five-streaked rainbow emerged in his fingers’ path.

Thomas yelled and made a big show of trying to escape -- _how can anyone be so bloody adorable?_ \-- but to no avail. With a firm fistful of his shirt in Newt’s hand, all he could do was fidget and wiggle helplessly while his boyfriend skimmed his vibrant fingers across his cheek. 

The older boy chortled in satisfaction as he held Thomas unyieldingly in his grabby hands. And he realized; digging Thomas in the ribs induced the most precious giggly squeals from the tattooed boy that he had never had the pleasure of hearing before. 

Thus, Newt resorted to tickling him mercilessly, simultaneously sprucing up his white shirt. 

“Oh for fuck’s – okay, okay, I surren – Newt! STOP!” Thomas gasped between uncontrollable giggles, heedless of the splashes of paint on his shirt and face as he was too busy struggling.

Newt erupted into his own series of giggles upon watching the brunette suffer. A bright idea then came upon him – he returned to the windowsill, where Thomas’ paintbrushes were sitting in a mug, and grabbed a handful of them.

“What are you doing?” Thomas wheezed in a valiant attempt to recover his breath from the previous tickle attack. His sight landed on the brushes, and his expression morphed into one of comedic horror.

“Not the brushes. Please!” 

“Oh?” Newt halted in his tracks, his face a fixed mask of feigned innocence. “What brushes?” The devil perching on his right shoulder cackled. _Oh, he’s in for it now._

Before Thomas could make any further protests, Newt reached his side and resumed the battle. He first flicked the paintbrushes with all his might – scattering a spectrum of watery reds, greens and blues across Tommy’s white shirt – then proceeded to make his own masterpiece on the younger boy’s skin and clothing.

Thomas, who was utterly defenceless and in fits of laughter, gradually made efforts which grew increasingly feeble. At this point, his chest hurt from laughing and his cheeks ached from smiling, and the paint was hardening on his skin – but Newt could feel the joy radiating off of him, which was a rare and beautiful thing.

 _Thwack!_ A blend of sunset hues on Thomas’ sleeve.

 _Thwack!_ Another combination of ocean blues on his hem.

 _Thwack!_ A beautiful symphony of citruses on the waistline.

It wasn’t until Thomas was on his knees (quite literally) and in tears of laughter while begging Newt to stop, that Newt finally ceased abusing the heck out of the poor paintbrushes.

He sat on top of Thomas, straddling the golden-eyed boy, both out of breath and rosy-cheeked, eyes glowing with elation and appreciation for the other. 

As Newt’s eyes drank in the sight of his Thomas – his eyes creased into half-moons, mouth wide open mid-laugh, paint splashed in the most random spots – his heart swelled magnificently at the love it contained. 

The lines between the tickle fight and the make-out session were blurred; neither of them could clearly remember when one had transitioned into the other. Both boys were holding onto each other as if they were their mutual lifelines – and they were.

Newt could feel the paint drying and crusting beneath his fingernails, but that didn’t stop him from nursing Thomas’ face passionately in his hands as his lips found the other’s cheek. 

“Please don’t wash your shirt,” Newt requested thickly as his eyes surveyed the no-longer-white shirt Thomas had on. “We should have it like this to remember today.” 

Thomas chuckled and drew Newt in for more kisses. “God, we’re such a mess,” he whispered into Newt’s lips as his tongue darted out to wet the soft pillows. “You’re staying to clean up.” 

Newt laughed softly and ran a hand through his hair, which was, expectedly, dried in paint as well. “No objections. That is, if you agree to a shower together.” 

His request was met with a fond eye-roll. “Doesn’t that go without saying?” Then his eyes strayed over Newt’s shoulder, and his eyes proceeded to pop out of their sockets. 

Turning to see what got Thomas so shocked, Newt realized that his reaction was justified. The neglected paintbrushes were so severely matted, their hairs frayed in a thousand different directions. With layer after layer of paint caked on them, they looked absolutely petrified.

“We probably should have washed them before we starting shoving our tongues down each other’s throats,” Newt pointed out after a few seconds of staring at the damage he did. “And I _might_ have been a little too forceful.” 

Thomas scoffed. “No shit. They’re not da Vincis , but I loved them.” 

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Newt apologized, genuinely feeling bad for ruining Thomas’ brushes. “’s my fault.”

Thomas smiled and booped Newt on the nose. “Lose the sad face, babe. I can fix them. All I need is brush cleaner and Vaseline.”

“Does that mean the shower can come first?” 

Thomas laughed fondly and swept Newt up into his arms, making the older boy yelp. “My boy’s happiness over my brushes any day.”

* * *

_Three weeks later._

“My stupid GPS shut off, I have to input the destination again.” Minho frowned. “Give me the name of the store again.”

“Safe Haven Art Materials,” Newt repeated. “It’s H-A-V-E—” 

“I know how to spell Haven, you shank.” 

Newt’s tapping on his phone was the only sound that punctuated the brief silence. 

“He’s one lucky slinthead, you know. You never go _this_ all-out to get someone gifts.” Minho was the first to speak.

Newt huffed a small laugh. “Well, it is my fault that all his paintbrushes are ruined.” 

“He told me he fixed them.”

“An artist can never have too many paintbrushes.” 

“You’re just looking for reasons to buy him these ridiculously expensive brushes!” Minho exclaimed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“It’s Christmas!” Newt said defensively. “Of course I have to get him something nice!”

“What are you getting me then?” the Asian challenged, glaring sideways at his roommate.

_Shit. Haven’t actually thought of that._

“It’s a surprise,” Newt decided finally.

His answer was met with a disbelieved snort. “Which is code for ‘I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it yet’.” 

_Damn it._

“Christmas is still like a week away!” Newt protested. “You don’t have to worry, I’m getting you something nice.” 

“Yeah, it’s like a week away, why do you even have to be so early? And you even made _me_ take you.” 

“Dinner’s on me tonight. Let’s go get steaks,” Newt conceded, failing to resist Minho’s guilt trip.

That was all it took to pacify Minho; the raven-haired boy resumed driving in silence with a grin on his face.

“And I have to be early because this is the only time I can go without Tommy getting suspicious! He promised he’d come to London with me during Christmas, so he took an extra few days off to go visit his mum first, which is why I needed to go now. The Haven is like an hour away and I don’t want to have to come up with an alibi,” Newt explained. “Thanks, by the way, I know an hour of driving isn’t very fun.” 

Minho grunted dismissively. “When have I not had your back?” 

Newt leaned back into his seat smiling, hugely grateful that he had not one, but two rocks as his best friends by his side.

* * *

“Welcome to Safe Haven, are you looking for anything in particular?” a girl with huge green eyes and black hair emerged from behind the counter. 

“Erm—”

“He’s looking for da Vinci brushes,” Minho cut in. “Make this quick, I’m shucking freezing in here,” he added under his breath.

Newt smiled warmly at the girl and nodded. “Yeah, do you stock any of those?”

The girl nodded with an impressed smile. “You know your supplies. Those don’t come cheap.” 

Minho shot Newt a knowing, teasing look (which Newt tried hard not to see) and disappeared deeper into the store, muttering something about finding somewhere warmer. 

Newt answered with a short laugh. “It’s for a someone else studying art. You might have to guide me a bit actually, I know absolutely nothing about art supplies.” 

“It’s alright, I’ll walk you through everything. I’m Harriet, by the way.”

“Thank you Harriet, I’m Newt.” 

“So where’s your friend studying art, Newt?” Harriet asked as she walked to the tall glass case behind her and pulled out an expensive-looking brush set, snug in a fancy leather case. 

“Maze. It’s about an hour from here.” _Why did that sound like a question?_

“Oh! My co-worker’s from Maze as well. She also studies art, I’ll see if you two know each other!”

Before Newt could say “we probably don’t”, Harriet bustled into the back room and pulled another girl out. “This is Rachel.” 

Newt smiled reluctantly at the girls, feeling a tiny bit overwhelmed. “Hello.” 

Rachel beamed at Newt, flicking her ginger tresses over her shoulder. “Hello there. You from Maze too?”

Newt nodded. 

“I’m a freshman there. It’s nicer there than I expected, you know, and the art courses are exceptional. Professor Paige is _such_ a brilliant teacher…”

_Should I clear my throat?_

“…students are all _very_ talented…”

_She’ll never stop if I don’t._

“…first semester just _whizzed_ by…”

“Rachel! Newt actually needs help looking,” Harriet interrupted. 

_Oh thank fuck._ Newt smiled courteously and nodded. 

“Right. Sorry,” Rachel trilled, opening the case. “Here we go. Do you know what brushes you’re looking for? We have watercolor, oil and acrylic, flat brushes and mottlers, and special brushes like ones specific for ceramic painting, gilding, et cetera.”

Newt let out a laugh. “I have no idea. I’m getting them for someone else.” 

Rachel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? Are they studying art at Maze too?”

A nod was all it took to set off Rachel’ blabber again.

“Oh! Would they happen to know Thomas Green? I know this may all seem quite weird, but he’s _so cute_ and his tattoos! He seems really mysterious though, doesn’t really talk with a lot of people but so many girls in our year have an eye on him…”

_Huh. Why am I not bloody surprised?_

“Are they all similarly priced?” he cut in, suddenly not apologetic for interrupting Rachel anymore. 

“They range from five to sixty dollars each. Depends on which models you’re getting.” Rachel deviated from her slightly obsessive recollection of Thomas, then launched back into it without batting an eyelash.

“I’ve showed _you_ pictures of Thomas, haven’t I, Harriet? Do you know Thomas, Newt? He’s a tattoo artist now, apparently. I wouldn’t be surprised at all…”

“Oh, I remember. The tattooed muscly one, right? The one with brown hair and the cute smile?” Harriet asked excitedly.

_Oh, not you bloody too._

“ _Yes!_ Mmm. So cute.” 

“How much are all of the models together?” Newt asked briskly, getting more annoyed by the second. 

“The entire set is 500 dollars, including the leather case. It’s cheaper than if you buy all of them individually, and more selective as well – it has the best models suited for each medium, so you don’t have to hand-pick them yourself if you’re not sure what your friend needs,” Harriet explained.

 _That’s a lot._

“I’ll take the set, please.” 

_The look on Tommy’s face when he opens it will be worth it even if I have to live on instant ramen for the next three months._

“Good choice,” Rachel chimed in. “I wonder what type of brushes Thomas uses. His art is always displayed by Professor Paige, Harriet, I’m telling you. The one of the bluebells was _absolutely_ incredible – ”

_Those bluebells are mine. Like him, he’s mine too._

“Can I pay by credit card?” he interjected, his polite façade just seconds away from snapping. 

“Of course,” Rachel said, reaching over to take his card. “I saw him working on a huge oil painting this summer, when the semester first started. The AC had broken down, you see, and he had his shirt off because it was hot in the studio. God, those abs. I’d only seen them once but they’re practically engraved in my memory.”

_Are you fucking serious?_

“Sounds like a treat,” Harriet laughed. 

Newt’s smile was frozen as he watched Harriet punch in numbers at the register. 

_Just wait until the transaction is done… then you can walk away._

“Do you know who we’re talking about, Newt?” Rachel asked curiously. “Thomas Green, ever heard of him?” 

Newt didn’t know whether to laugh or shrug, so he did both. Just as he was starting to give a vague answer, Minho’s head popped up from behind one of the shelves. 

“Newt, Thomas just called me looking for you,” he said loudly. “He wants you to buy the lube this time because he won’t have time to go to a drugstore on the way back.” 

_Bloody fuck._

Newt felt his face go up in flames, and even from the corner of his eye, he could see the mind-boggled stares from Rachel and Harriet. 

Neither of them spoke a word as Harriet finished wrapping up the set.

Minho sauntered over to the counter and leaned on it. “Oh, Newt has heard of Thomas,” he said sunnily, winking at both of the girls. “Even the neighbours have heard of him; Newt screams his name ridiculously loud every night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mini-hiatus again! Work has been hectic and I've been kind of in a writing slum :( I kind of also got a little carried away with this chapter with no real plot development, but hey, who gets angry at a little fluff? :3
> 
> Kudos and comments are very very much appreciated xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Eeek I'm so nervous, what did you guys think of the first chapter? Please comment, any suggestions would be well appreciated <3 BTW if you couldn't tell, English isn't my first language, so any advice/ constructive criticism would be useful as well :) Please bear with any mistakes and please please please leave your comments and kudos below thank youuu!


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